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POEMS 



OF 



L. M. STANLEY, 

DAMASCUS, OHIO. 



THE R. M. SCRANTON PRINTING CO. 

ALLIANCE, OHKi. 

1900. 



TWO copies RECEIVED. 

Library of Cc^gpofi, 
Register of Copyrl£:hts. 



54249 



Copyrighted 1899, by R. M. Sckanton. 



SECOND COPt, 






TO 
MY WIFE 

AND 

CHILDREN. 

Whose Loving Counsel 

Inspired Me to my Flights of Fancy and 

Cheered Me on the Way, 

1 DEDICATE 

THIS 

VOLUME. 



INTRODUCTION. 



A waif is started adrift today — 
A timid waif in a heartless throng — 

To run the course where the critics lay 
In wait for the crushing of each song. 

Oh! woman, wife, thou hast told me'oft 
Oh children blest you were good to me, 

And bade me rise and look aloft 
From the things below that burdened me, 

To heed not scowls of a frowning foe 
Whose darkened counsel each word attend8» 

But up, and up, to the sunliglit go, 
To live in the smiles of loving friends, 

And so this waif —an unfinished lay 
From tlie old farm home, is set ago 

The pilot Hope at the wheel today 
To keep adrift from a heartless foe. 



CONTENTS. 



AConfession 184 

A Dry Summer 31 

A Dilemma 66 

A Dilemma 67 

A Farmers' Institoot 90 

A "Hayseeds" Lament 124 

AHeartSong of Today 152 

A Health 61 

A Holiday Romanzo 93 

A Legend 140 

A Mournful Ballad 136 

A Rhapsody 262 

A Ride Into The Country. 174 

A Phantom 216 

A Pilgrim's Monody 182 

A Picture from a Picture 121 

A Summer Nood Time on the Farm at Damascus.... Ill 

A Wandering Revery 83 

Abijah Searceoffat 79 

An Alaskan's Lament 185 

An Eastern Sonata 63 

An Episode, 161 

An October Sabbath 199 

Apia 14S 

Are Open Again 149 



At Quaker Mectin' 75 

Betrayed 15f) 

Bob luiJersol 12 

Coiiiiiij? HoniH Again 50 

Col. A. J.. HawkiiH 1% 

Day Dreams 234 

DainascMs Meeting— Then and Now 259 

De (Jradiihite 39 

De Plantin* ob de Pole 130 

Deatli of an (Md Citizen 146 

Dissatisfied 19 

Dick Click 24 

Fame 48 

Fish Wurnis 3b 

Forsaken 195 

From the Front 257 

Fun At Damascus 10 

Foes 125 

Grandma 100 

Go Ring The Change 169 

Going Hack 171 

Have Ah^ved Away 211 

Hannah 193 

How Prosperity Conies 122 

Hawaii and Cncle Sam 168 

Hell 230 

How the "News" Took With tlie People 62 

How Teddy W<m His Bride , 239 

How the VV omen Voted in Deestrict Nnniber Eight 95 

He Don't Look Fer Santa 97 

I Hain't (iot No Religion 28 

I Am King 154 

1 Love the World 144 

I Am Not Old 172 

U Christ Were To Come To Damascus 208 

Imurohabilities 159 

In Memoriaiu 197 

Italia 150 

Jim Kerr 98 

Just So 46 

Jealousy 228 



John Morgan's Raid 267 

Longin' 129 

March 15 

My First Love 51 

Nominate a City Man 105 

Not AllJoy 165 

October...." 166 

One of Our Representatives writes Home to his Wife 281 

Our Mail Carrier, Samuel ,163 

Our Leap Year Party ' 85 

Old Santy 21 

Ode to the Last Fly 20 

Pa an' Ma an' Uncle Lew 115 

Petition and Its Answer 177 

Premature 123 

Retrospection 249 

Refli^cted 244 

Riming 11 

Scarecrows 247 

Sign of a Storm 25 

She Died Like the Master 33 

Spellin' School at Bricktown 57 

Stay Wliere You Are Old Man 118 

Some Observin's 81 

Song of the Greek Patriot 103 

The FirstSnow 14 

The D. nil Has Come to Our Village 34 

The Broken Resolution 42 

The Hunt— An Episode 56 

The Candidates 69 

Tlie Devil's Mortgages 73 

The Three Ole Maids 86 

The Country Doctor 88 

The Pensioner , 108 

The Song of the Cuban Patriot 114 

The Old Folk's Literary 132 

The Mortgage Fiend 135 

The Greeting of Boreas 138 

The Robin 157 

The Woodchuck 174 

The Two Rain-Makers 126 



Tlie Woodpecker 175 

The Farmer's Complaint 176 

The Hypochondriac 179 

The Return 202 

The Ohl Brick Meeting House 204 

The Going Or Our Volunteers 207 

The City Of Free Trade. 209 

The Haunted House Of Westville Town 212 

The Day We Went ToW^oggles Wood 218 

The ThresliingDay 220 

The Suicide 225 

The Return of Our Volunteers 235 

The Automobile 237 

The New Year's Wail 243 

The Homecoming 246 

The Conductor's Story 274 

The Modern Sermon 279 

The Skunk 283 

The Old Folks 17 

The Mosquito 288 

'IhevAll Want War 70 

TheySay 187 

Thanksgiving at Damascus 55 

That Was Me 232 

Toads an' Sich 41 

To Bill Nye 134 

To Odessa on Her Wedding Dav 151 

To a Picture 201 

Uncle Sam's Banquet to President McKinley 285 

Uncle Eben's Lament 44 

Vallev of the Conemaugh 147 

W'oman 102 

When He Went Down To New York 189 

Where Is Heaven ? , 191 

When 1 Shall Go 241 

When I Was a Boy 286 

Wife 13 

Washing 181 

You Cannot Take Away 153 



POEMS OF L. M, STANLEY. 



RIMEING. 



I've had a good many ideas cum to me at various times^ 
'Bout the way a feller orter rite that follers ritiii' rimes. 
An' I'm settled in the 'pinion, that a feller now-a-day, 
Orter say a thing wuth sayin' if he's got a thing ter say. 
But if ritin' 'cause the spirit is invitin' him ter rite, — 
Or the muse is flyin' 'bout him like a miller roun' a light. 
Or is hoverin' jest' above him like a sparrow hawk'll do 
When he sees a mouse below him kinder slidin' inter 

view — 
Then I hoi' a feller's justified in jes' a breakin' loose, 
An' a lettin rimes come outer him ter beat the very dooce^ 



Sometimes, when in the spirit, I kin feel I'm sot a-fire, 
With more music in my bein' than an ordinary choir. 
An' the s wallers fli'n' over with their swif an' noiseless 

wings, 
Is more music ter my bein' than a robin when he sings,. 
An' I seem ter get up higher where the hallelujahs roll 
With their peons shod with glory right in my very soul — 
An' I sets ter ritin' riming, jes' as fas' as fas' kin be, 
You'll think the goody angels is a close akin ter me. 



12 "BOB INC^ERSOLL." 

Well ! a feller's got ter rite 'em wlien he gets a spell like 

this, 
Or he won't know what is in him, nor jes' what the 

folks'] 1 miss 

It is like a feller diggin' in a hill a Imntin' coal, 

He may find tlie dnsky diamonds or may run ag'ln some 

goF 
Or the hill it may be barren, an' he's losin' all his time 
An' it's so I fin' with people who is al'ays makin' rime, 
But ter try an' rite the rimein' when the spirit's not 

erbout 
It is like a boozy feller huutin' keyholes when he's out. 



**BOB^' INGERSOLL ! 

Who asks my sweetest stay of me, 
And says that my eternity 
Is but a dream of phantasy V 
Bob Ingersoll I Bob Ingersoll I 



Who robs the Bible for his trade 
Of trutlis as old as Bible made. 
And as liis own has them displayed ? 
Bob Ingersoll ! Bob Ingersoll ! 

Who, gave to us a perfect law, 
A moral code witliout a flaw 



WIFE. 13 



On which to found all perfect law ? 
The Bible did ! The Bible did I 

Who, if its story be untrue, 
Makes better men of me and you 
By living as it bids us do ? 
The Bible does ! The Bible does I 

And if its sweetest story told 
To bright fruition shall unfold 
And we shall walk the streets of gold 
Where vfiWyou be- Bob IngersoU ? 



WIFE. 



Mother— wife— a dark eyed maiden, 
Dimple cheeks, and raven curls, 

Eyes that sparkled full of laughter - 
Reckoned just the best of girls. 

That was yesterday, my darling - 
Just a span since yesterday— 

Since we two together started 
Hand in hand along the way. 

Oftentimes we came to sorrow 

Lying in a gulf below, 
But we bridged it by our praying 

And above would safely go. 



14 THE FIRST SNOW. 

Oftentimes 'twas chill December 
When we looked for promised May, 

Oftentimes were shadows falling 
When we looked for brightest day. 

But we plodding went together, 
Bearing griefs which were our own, 

And^our hearts in anguish weeping 
Were our prison cells alone. 

Years have threaded through our pathway- 
Each succeeding shorter grown. 

Till we almost touch the border 
Of the land we call our own. 

Mother— wife— a dark-eyed maiden. 
But her hair has turned to gray, 

With her heart as loved and loving 
As it was our yesterday. 



THE FIRST SNOW. 

Last night while I slept, old Boreas waking 
Called up a young scion that lay by his side 

And taking some crystals of ice he was making 
He bade the young progeny scatter them wide 



MARCH. 15 



He went at the bidding from out the ice-palace 
And deftly he flew to the South lands below 

And taking the crystals from out of his chalice 
He whitened the meadows with beautiful snow. 



The South-wind at rest in the cave of winds dreaming 

Of daffodils and daisy, on meadows and moor 
Awoke to the touch of the morning's first beaming 

And saw where the frost-king had whitened her door 
Then calling together the mists of the morning 

She harnessed the hurricane wind to her train 
And chose the bright bow for her regal adorning 

And deluged the earth with the beautiful rain. 



MARCH. 

Through the gloom of my room is stealing some sun- 
shine, 

I feel its warm touch as it swings to and fro, 
I know it has stole through the boughs of the maple, 

Whose heads are breeze tossed, as the sunshine below. 



I hear the birds sing, and I fancy I see them, 
See the soft wooly clouds as they ride in the sky. 

Hear the blasts, with the crash of the thunder pursuing. 
As sweeping the northland in fury hard by. 



1<) FUN AT DAMASCUS. 

I lean from my window— the air it grows chilly— 
I streteli forth my hand in tlie blackness around. 

And feel the cold touch of a snow flake in falling, 
To kiss the gay crocus upheaving the ground. 

The frogs in the marslies have weakened their chorus, 
The birds they have flown, or are singless and still. 

The storm it has passed, and a stillness has followed 
Save March winds are singing their dirge on the hills 



FUN AT DAMASCUS. 

Oh, it's fun now at Damascus— every mother's child 
Runnin' loose in sugar camps, an' jes' goin' wild; 
Buildin' little furnaces, an' doin' as they please, 
Makin' maple 'lasses out 'o half a dozen trees. 
Totin' all the water in, in little wooden pails; 
Splittin all the biling wood from out o' daddy's rails, 
An' runnin' up the hillsides an slidin' down ag'ii.; 
Taffy stickin' to their face from forehead to the chin, 
Makin' little steamers out o' mamma's baking pan; 
Sail 'em on the crooked brook that through tlie woodses 
ran. 

Oh, it's fun now at Damascus— sugar makin's here, 
An' all the youngster's gittin' fat on sugar water beer. 
W)men talkin' politics, of who's goin' to win it, 
Sing an' shoutin' all time cause that they are in it. 
They think they are all Davids with a sling a twirlin' 

'round. 
An' huntin' for Goliahs an' they're goin to vote 'em down 



THE OLD FOLKS. 1^ 

Oh, they're feelin' mighty happy in the lullabies they hum. 
An' they're hollerin' hallelujah, for the votin' days have 
come. 

Oh, it's fun now at Damascus— everything is bright. 
With maples dressin' in the red, and pussy willers white J 
An' people feelin' happy jes' cause the Lord is good. 
An' He's pourin' out His blessin' through the maple in 

the wood. 
It beats the melon patches that Georgia loves to sing — 
It beats the 'glades of Florida with everlastin' spring-— 
An' our people are contented, an' wavin' trouble by 
With music in their voices, an' a twinkle in their eye. 



THE OLD FOLKS. 

It seems to me the old folks have the bestest time of all, 
They always have some holidays a keepin' for the last, 

An' jes' set a dreamin' like along the chimney wall, 
An' tell erbout so many things that happen in the past. 

They talk erbout the muster days, when Grandpa went to 
drill. 
When Grandma planted out the flax to make her weddin 
gown. 
When Grandpa shot the bigges' deer down by Coppick mill 
An' when they rode for twenty mles to get the neardest 
town. 

An' then they tell erbout the time they had an a pple bee 
An' Grandpa had to peel the ones that Grandma had to 
core— 



18 THE OLD FOLKS. 

They'd bin passin' cider round an' drinkin' purty free 
Till things looked kinder mixin' erbout upon the floor — 

An' some one got the fiddle down an' rosined up the bow 
An' struck a pruty lively fling for shakin' of the heel, 

An' Grandpa said to Grandma then— "less let the apples go 
An' take a little step or two in ole Mrginny reel." 

An' when they stopped to git a breath they stood before 
tlie 'Squire 
\Yho made 'em take a hold of ban's an' lissen what he 
sed — 
While both 'er faces looked as if they had bin set afire 
An' everybody flggered out that him an' her was wed. 

An' so whenever now they hear of weddin's at high noon, 
Of weddin' marches bein' played in churches by the band* 

Or 'bout the bride a bein' fed with gold or silver spoon, 
Or gettin' checks to make a trip inter foreign land. 

They shake their heads an' say to each, "That ain't the 

way what we 
Got married on the puncheon floor, with taller dip for 

light, 

Way back of more'n fifty years, at Cobbs' apple bee 

When we was dressed in home-spun dress, a cool 

October night." 

An' then their clean an' waxen faces lighten with a smile 
They live ag'in, the fifty years they traveled hand in 
hand- 
Each year a mile upon the way— a stone for every mile— 
An' talk erbout a check they've got in a Foreign Land. 



DISSATISFIED. 19 

DISSATISFIED. 

De day am hot, an' de sun do shine 
Frew cracks in dis ole blue shirt of mine, 
Till it feel like a bolt of 'lectric fire 
I kotch red hot from de trolley wire. 
I dribe dis mule an' he haint no sense 
He je-haws roun' when he touch de fence, 
He snort an' rear at de bot fly near 
Like de gad-fly shore were in his ear. 
1 can't stay here for it taint no use 
Fur de white folks lock all de chicken roos' 
An' want dis nigger to work an' pray 
An' lib on his twenty cense a day. 

I jis git word frum me brudder Jo — 
Frum de Kansas Ian' where I want ter go- 
An' Jo he writ dat de crops am fine' 
Dat he libs in a Ian of co'n an' wine 
Where de Samhill crane an' porkupine 
An' de wattermillion on de vine, 
Jis wait for a lif ' of han' like mine. 
Dat dey hab no fleas, an' hab no flies, 
An' dey cut der co'n into railroad ties: 
Dat when dey dig for the wattah deep, 
Dey git a year from de big co'n heap 
Wid de pinted en' a pintin' down 
Dey dribe it clean in de mellow groun,' 
Den pull de cob — an' sho's you born - 
You hab a well dat am walled with co'n. 
An' Jo he writ, of de cyclone pit 
Wen de sto'm come up dey crawl in it— 



20 DISSATISFIED. 

Like ago'fer mole in de wood chuck hole 
Till de big brack clouds beyon' em roll;— 
Dat he offen sees ole "Ligah sit 
Astride de sto'm an a ridiu' it 
An 'he seesde lightningin his han' 
An' de good Lawd walkin' on de Ian' 
An' de postle Paul and Peter too 
An' de Baptist John a wadin' frew, 
An' all de host of de hebeuly skies 
Come er dancin' roun ' befor his eyes 
An' de hos' of Pharaoh lyin' roun' 
Dat de good Lawd trampled on de groun,' 
An' he talk to de spirits goin' bye 
An' deys always axin' "Where is I?" 
I long ter go, en' ter see sich tings 
An' hear dem songs what dey angel sings 
An' see ole "Ligah sweepin' bye 
In de chariot cloud hung way up high 

An' de Hebrew children in de fire 
Jis walkin' frew with de hebeuly choir 
An' de spirit always passing bye 
An' an alw'ays axin' "Where is I?" 
I member now when mommy died 
An' I stood alone by her side and cried. 
I promised her as the days roll bye 
Ter watch for her in de upper sky 
An' read de Scriptures— preach de word. 
An' gadder de sinners to de Lawd 
An' her spirit dare is hubberin nigh 
An' its her dat is axin— "Where is 1?" 



OLD SANTY. 

OLD SANTY. 

Old Santy came to our house today— 

As he always came before, 
Just a moon before our Christmass lay 

For to count us children o'er; 
For he knew one time St. Peter slept, 

And he left his gate ajar, 
And a little angel through it crept 

And came down like a star. 
And we took him to our house to stay 

For to help me build my toys. 
And when dear old Santy came our way 

Why— he had no toys for boys; 
And so I think that he came today 

To see if a household pet 
As an angel came— or had flown away— 

For to know what things to get. 

And I heard him talking to my pa 

Of the bother it would be 
With the Filippinos that he saw 

In our new land of the sea ; 
And he said that they were burly busks 

With a fuzzy April skin, 
Who pick their teeth with the shadepole's 

tusks 

As they eat of the muckatin; 
They eat the fruit of the bratnut tree 

That grows in the sizzling air, 
And goat whales that run up from the sea 

For the fat of the molar bear, 



21 



22 OLD SANTY. 

While the children hold their Christmas 
glees 

By the side of an old ant mole, 
And feed on the glute of the fantail bees 

They drank from a skyac bowl, 
Or slid (m bark of a bareback tree— 

They had snoodled from its trunk— 
On the side new peeled— into the sea, 

On a mattress of squeednnk. 
Or drove the gar with its snickering snoot 

Away from the slimewood gall, 
Up where the eels of the ells would shoot 

Through the bamboo cuttered wall. 
Or poke the jibe from its skites away 

With an elbow shaped rattoo, 
That the gilgall might have time to play 

On the laps of golden rue, 

Old santy said that -"a coasting sled 

It would hardly do to go 
To the Filipinos," so he said, 

Because that they have no snow; 
And a hobby horse, with tail and mane 

And with stirrups by its side. 
Would be too slow— and would give them 
pain 

With the bareback bark to ride; 
And the knives and skates and books and 
blocks, 

They would seem to him a sin. 
To take away where they have no socks 



OLD SANTY. 23 

For to put such playthings in. 
And so for toys for our new-made host, 
In our new land o'er the way, 

He built a shop on his sunless coast. 

At the head of Nowhere bay. 
His workmen were building there-he said 

Some Whangaloos of Arkay, 
In beautiful shades of Samar red, 

To put in his buskin sleigh, 
When he flies to the top of Luzon heights 

And the lowlands of Tebu, 
O'er Palawan with its dewless nights. 

And the queen flies of Sulu 
And so in the trough where troubles brew 

Old Santy he sat today, 
And mopping the sweat that stood like dew 

On his troubled brow, away; 
And he muttered loud as he homeward 
sped 

That his gifts for me were slim, 
"And our new-made buskin snipes," he 
said. 

They were just a-killing him, 
And so I ain't looking for no skates, 

That tight and loose with a screw 
But a great big card with months and dates 

Or mebby a whangaloo. 



34 DICK ULICK. 

DICK ULICK. 

Dick Ulick he has volunteered — 
Dick lives jes' plain in sight— 
I bet a dollar Dick is skeered 

When he gets in a fight, 
'Cause once I skeered Dick all alone 

As he cum home from town, 
By crawlin' up a sugar tree 

An' droppin' somethin' down. 
Dick he cum whislin' long the path 

'Bout ten er clock at night,— 
An' I hed stuffed some cloze with straw- 

The cloze was real white,— 
An' jes' as Dick got under me, 

An' in the plainest sight, 
I let the thing down with a string, 

An' Dick he seed it lite, 
An crackey! davey! you'd have laffed 

To see the fuss he made. 
He stood an' hollered fer a bit- 

An then the feller prayed. 
An' I kep, bobbin of the string — 

I'd hitched onto a lim' — 
An' Dick, he thought, that every bob 

The thing were grabbin' him. 

He said he al'ass hed bin good, 

An' loved his mother mos'. 
An' now the lawd were leavin' him 

For food ter feed the ghos', 
An' then he fainted clean away, 

An' I thought Dick was dead, 



ODE TO THE LAST FLY. 25 

An' I slid down that sugar tree 

Pored water on his head- 
Till he cum too- an' he was soaked 

Till every dud was wet, 
An' though the night were orfal cold, 

Dick he jes' sweat an' sweat. 
I hed to stay with Dick that night 

An' go with him ter bed; 
An' every time he shut his eyes 

He seen a ghos', he said. 
Jes' think of Dick as he was then, 

The very Dick I skeered, 
The Dick who fainted at my ghos' 

An' now he's volunteered. 



ODE TO THE LAST FLY. 

Good-bye old fly, persistent pest, 

That sought your forage on my crown. 
Who oft disturbed my morning rest 

Before I got the curtain down. 
Your days are numbered -nearly run;— 

Your mates from off the ceiling drop 
Into my coffee one by one. 

Or mingle with my mutton chop. 

This morning at my faint repast 

I ope'd a biscut smoking hot 
And found where one had breathed his last 

And gone to meet the common lot. 



26 SIGNS OF A STORM. 

A struggling hero grappled death 
Within the confines of my plate, 

And there he drew his latest breath 
And left his carcass to my fate. 

And you are left, yon blasted thing, 

To mope around— an owl by day — 
And wait for the return of Spring 

Before you wing yourself away. 
1 have a mind to mash you flat, 

My mind is on you murder bent, 
You old detested acrobat, 

The worst of plagues to Pharoah sent. 



SIGN OF A STORM. 

When de win' am hushed wid sadden heat. 

Ad' de sun am burning' hot, — 
An' de mule jes' stan' an' stomp his feet 

At flies in der medder lot— 
An' de smoke com' swoopin' to de groun* 

An' de birds am tlyin' low. 
An' de gnats an' skeeters spook aroun' 

'Cause dey ain't nowhere ter go^ 
Den cas' your eye to de upper sky, 
For a storm am geddering berry nigh. 

If de big co'n lebes begin ter roll, 
An' de melon vines am sad,— 



SIGN OF A STORM. ^7 

An' you feel jes'like you's gettin' ole 

Enough for ter be your dad,— 
An' you see der clouds begin ter rise 

Wid der yaller hood on top, 
An' keep er pushin' up in der skies 

An' nebber a sign of stop- 
Den flee ter de cabin, bar de door 
For de storm am on you, sartain shore. 

If de wife look cross at breakfast time 

An' her wooley head am friz,— 
An' der cat she hab ter run an' climb 

Where dare ain't no missus is,— 
An' der little niggahs as dey rise 

For ter git der niornin' kiss- 
See de debbil grinnin' in her eyes 

An' dey run agin his As'— 
Den I knows dat I will kotch her wrath, 
An' de storm be hubberin' on my path. 

If when you comes to de Jordan ford— 

An' look for de promis' Ian'— 
You fin' de debbil an not de Lawd 

Dat am grabbin' for your han', 
An' all of de folks you don stole from 

An' all dat you tole dem lies— 
You'd better git inter de Kingdom come 

For a storm am gwine ter rise, 
It's gwine ter rise an' will take you in 
An' all pore sinners dats lovin' sin. 



28 I hain't got no religion. 

So's if tie clouds am brack as jet— 

An' de rain be pourin down — 
You'd bettali git in from outer de wet 

Or mebby you'll be drown': 
An' if ole Satan he comes your way — 

An' he fin's you unawares — 
Go inter de meetin' house an' pray 

He'll run when he liears your prayers; 
For storms may come an'de win' may blow 
Dey can't come near where de righteous go 



I HAIN»T GOT NO RELIGION. 

I haint got much religion— 

Leastwise enough to spare — 
Nor very much financial 

To burden me wid care- 
But I's full to bilin' over 

Wid a kind er long desire, 
That keeps me thinkin', thinkin' 

All the time of my Mariar. 

She uster look so purty— 

Er long in early spring — 
A plantin' out the posies 

Where slippery elms swing, 
An' every little corner 

Where the grass was gittin' spare, 
I'd see erlong at harves' 

A hollyhock was there. 



I HAIN'T GOT NO RELIGION. 29 

She lister keep a singiD' 

Of ole familar tunes, 
Jes' like her soul was bathin' 

In seas of rosy Junes, 
An' kinder got me tliinking,' 

An' some way — I don't know how, — 
It mellered on my feelin's 

Like the medder to the plow. 

She uster set at evenin'— 

The sun had gone ter rest, 
An' Night had took his curtain 

An' put across the west 
An' watch me coming homeward 

When I was tired an' late- 
It somehow helped my restin' 

When I seen her at the gate. — 

An' arm in arm together 

We'd spend the Sunday too, 
When bloom was on the clover 

Or wheat was peepin' through. 
An' say to me so sweetly — 

An' I mind it now a heap — 
"That a feller always harves'; 

The kind he sows to reap." 

She didn't speak in meetin' 

Nor sing in any choir, 
Nor give up all our earnings 

To build a steeple higher. 



30 I hain't got no religion. 

But always doiii* somethin' 
That would give the needy aid — 

An' that was her perfession 
An' the kind o' prayer she prayed. 

One day — 'twas in November — 

The cricket's chirp was still, 
A thousand dewy diamonds 

Were flashing up the hill, — 
There came from cmt the mornin* 

Wid still an' chilly breath, 
A grim an' silent reaper 

From the shadow Ian' of death. 

An' took her— oh, he took her— 

I seen her spirit go 
Jes' like a little sunbeam 

Thats edgin' through the snow— 
An' I can hear her singin' 

The tunes she uster sing 
While plantin' out the posies 

Where the slippery elms swing. 

I hain't got much religion— 

Leastwise enough to spare — 
But I want ter see the angels 

An' see Mariar there; 
An' L's full to biling over 

Wid a hope that buries grief 
To die in her religion 

Is to meet in her belief. 



A DRY SUMMER. 31 

A DRY SUMMER. 

We was sittin' roun' as usual 

At pos'orfis an' store, 
An' talkin' gol' an' silver, 

An' war an' lots o' more 
Of entertainin' subjec's, 

Discussin' with a vim 
The cider makin' question 

An' oat crop bein' slim, 
Of how the season's vary — 

Firs' one is col' an' wet. 
An' then jes' more an' likely 

A sizzer we will get; 
We couldn't 'splain the causes, 

But each one tried his bes', 
Paradin' his 'speriences, 

To try an' beat the res'. 
The ole one bout the summer, 

Of eighteen fifty-five, 
The bed of the Mahonin' 

They used it for a drive. 
An' water sol' in Salem 

For fippeny bit a quart. 
An' melons had no water, 

An' lots more o' such sort. 
When Uncle Joseph Henry— 

Who yeah ago las' June, 
Come in from starvin' Kansas 

To spend a honeymoon — 
Tor of the worstes' season 

He said they ever knew 



32 A DRY SUMMER 

Since firs' he went to Kansas 

Way back in sixty-two. 
They had a drouth in April 

That lasted until fall ; 
For months an' months together 

It never rained at all, 
An' all his stock was dyin' 

Because of thirs' lie said, 
'Ceptin' his polan' chiner' 

An' she were nearly dead. 
It kep' a gittin'dryer 

An' dryer every day— 
His barrels all coUapsin' 

An' warpin' every way — 
An' buckets fell to pieces. 

An' tubs went ter decay— 
An' his ole polan' chiner 

Was goin' jes' as they. 
An' so, ter keep her livin' 

For pork tlie coniin' June, 
He started out one mornin' 

Late in the afternoon, 
An' drove her in the river 

Way down below the hill. 
An' had to soak her forty hours 

Afore she would hoi' swill. 



SHE DIED LIKE THE MASTER. 35 

SHE DIED LIKE THE MASTER. 

With a weary wasting fever, 

Good old widow Crum had lain; 
With the smiles of Heaven upon her, 

And a body racked with pain. 

She was sweetly, calmly waiting, 

For the messenger to come, 
Who would bear her to the mansions 

Of her everlasting home. 

She had acres, rich and fertile, 
She had stocks and bonds in store^ 

And she knew no stint in giving 
To^ the beggars at her door. 

She had often feed the lawyer. 

With a handsome recompense, 
For his opportune opinions. 

For his wealth of legal sense. 

And her doctor for prescribing 

For imaginary ills; 
Which was always supplemented. 

By a dose of doubtful bills. 

She was now about to leave them— 

And there stood beside the bed. 
Both the lawyer and the doctor, 

For to hear the words she said. 

With the dews of death upon her, 
Aad with quick and failing breath; 



84 THE DEVIL HAS COME TO OUR VILLAGE. 

She was moving from the shadows, 
To the border land of death. 

So slie made them stand beside her 
With but one upon each hand; 

Till her spirit dropped the anchor, 
In the looked for promised land. 

"Wherefore thus," essayed the lawyer. 
As he moved around the bed, 

"Will you have us thus divided, 
As the watchers of the dead?" 

"That when death shall come and find me," 
She in broken words replied; 

"He will find me like my Master, 
With a thief on either side." 



THE DEVIL HAS COME TO OUR 
VILLAGE. 

The devil has cum to our village- 
He's cum to our village ag'in— 

He's gotten a new mess o' pottage 
He baked in his oven o' sin; 

He went to the meetin' o' Sunday— 

The ole Quaker meetin' you knows — 

An sat alongside o' the good ims 

With the brimstone brushed from his 
clothes. 



THE DEVIL HAS COME TO OUR VILLAGE. 35 

He came with the ole widder Stratton— 

So painted an' powdered you know — 
Bhe's los' a most elegant husban' 

An' now she is huntin' a beau; 
He went for his dinner ter Elwood's, 

The holiest man of the town, 
Who's boastin' that he has perfection 

An' cryin' the jus'ified down. 

He ain't the rip snortin' ole feller 

With warts on the top o' his head, 
Ner eyes that are squinty an' yeller' 

Nor hair that am shaggy an' red; 
He don't go round roarin' as lions, 

Er stormin' like fury ter fight, 
Ner scarin' you inter conniptions, 

As thieves in the middle o' night; 

Not much! he's a dudee ole dandy. 

Way up in the key o' the G's; 
His pockets are loaded with hymn-books 

An' trousers well out at the knees; 
He's kinder a half way exhorter 

Of all the new fangled views. 
Of the cranks who get inter religion, 

An' work it from outer their pews. 

He's much of a Baptis' as Quaker, 

An' always a sidin' with sich 
That's makin' the loudes' perfession 

An leadin' the blind to the ditch; 



3<5 FISH WURMS. 

He's never inclined ter contrition, 
But always a noddin' his head 

Whenever they're readin' from Peter, 
Er readin' Barrabbas instead. 

He al'ays is in fer a social 

Fer churches— a p,ayin' their debt— 
Fer preachers who git a percentage 

Of all the collections they get; 
He's gittin' up Sunday excursions 

To a cool, invitin' retreat, 
An' drinkin' the wine o' the kingdom. 

An' walkin' witli holiest feet. 

Yes, the Devils is in our village. 

An' looks like he's cum fer ter stay; 
He's an orful pleasant ole duffer — 

Can sing, an' can preach,an' can pray, 
He dines with the rich in the day time. 

He visits the poor in the night, 
The Devil who cum ter our village 

An' cum as an angel of light. 



FISH WURMS. 

Fish wurms— ooh! but I do hate 

Ter have ter git them wurms fer bait 

'Fore I kin fish! I have ter do 

Jes zactly as pa tells me to - 

An' so I git a hoe, er spade, 



FISH WURMS. 37 

An' hunt a place that's in the shad > 

An' go to diggin' ; like's not 

It wont take long to git a lot — 

But gittin 'em after they're found, 

An' yankin' wurms clear out the ground 

Is what gits me I ooh I but I hate 

Ter git them wigglin' wurms fer bait. 

You see it is this way— they will bore 

Fer fifty ways or mebby more 

An' don't know what they're borin' for— 

This way, that way, up an' down, 

Side ways, cross ways, roun' an' rouu', 

An' come out where they started in 

An' then they'll bore, an' bore, agin! 

I don't mind that I they have a right 

Ter bore all day an' back at night 

Fer all I care— that ain't the pint 

That puts my nose clear outer jint! 

My pint is this— these scriggly wurms— 

When I git after one that squirms 

That's big, an' fat, an' long an' slim, ^ 

An' jes erbout a grabbin him 

An' he pulls back,— I calculate 

That that would almost aggravate 

A common saint I Well I can see 

Jes' where he is, or orter be. 

An' lif another shovel then 

An' see him wigglin'— an' when 

I turn him up agin ter view 

An* grab, and pull, jes' like we do— 

An* he jes' lets himself into 



88 FISH WURMS. 

An' each end goes as good as new I 
Now what gits me an' makes me hot 
Is— I can't tell what en' I got. 

An' then the en' as I liave got 
Goes feelin' round, an' like's not 
'Tween my fingers, np my wrist, 
An' me a holdin' of my fist 
An' squeezin' him! Hows that feel? 
Haint I got a right to squeal? 
An' yet I've got ter squeeze, er he 
Is goin' to slip away from me! 
An' then again, they every one 
Jes' like a gas pipe come undone- 
Yes they do— I say they do, * 
An' then each en' will come into 
Jes' like a gas pipe will unscrew. 

They haint no head, nor tail ter me 

Or enny eyes as I kin see. 

Or ears, or mouth, or enny nose, 

Or enny legs, er feet, er toes. 

An' yet they jes' git up an' goes 

An' wiggle off! ooh! but I hate 

Them slimy squirming wurms fer bait 

I have ter git! It al'ays makes 

Me feel as I was hohlin' snakes. 

To hold a twistin' wigglin' wurm. 

Right in my hand an' feel him squirm 

Tntil sometimes— I offen wish — 

That things would turn an' wurms eat fish f 



DE GRADULATE. 39 

But then they won't; I calculate 
That these here warms we git fer bait 
Ter ketch the fish with— put on hooks 
An' sling 'em in the little brooks 
Ter nibble at -is jes' the meat 
As makes them fishes, what we eat— 

Jes' think of that I its plain ter me 
It's jes' as plain as plain kin be, 
If fish eat wurms, an' then if we 
Will eat the fish—why don't you see 
We eat them wurms? I calculate 
Pa'U hear of that when he wants bait 
Again! ooh! but it makes me squirm. 
The thought o' holrtin' of a wurm 
An' old, unjinting, slimy wurm, 
An' hold him there an' let him squirm. 



DE GRADULATE. 

I'se gwine to sell de ole gray mare 

An' lif de pen for de shoats, 
So tuk dem slips from off of de chair 

An' scrape de bin fur de oats; 
De ole Dominicker— jes tie him feet— 

An' fro him in behin', 
Den git dat poke wid a toat ub wheat 

An' Ginney eggs all you fine. 
An' de ole red cow dat's tied to de fence. 

Go fotch me critter in; 



40 DE GRADULATE. 

SheMl l>riiig ten do'lars I'll bet ten cents, 

It she am too pore to skin. 
We're gwine to town, we is dis day, 

Fur to sell what we has got, 
So git er-longTobe,— ger-long, I say 

Ue sun am mighty hot— 
We're gwine to town to sell all dese — 

We're gwine to fix up Kate— 
An' make her look too sweet to squeeze 

C<>s she's gwine to gradulate. 
She say dat she want er yaller gown, 

Wid mutton leg fur de sleebe. 
So I dun by *er slieep from Brown 

Dat I tuk widout his lebe, 
I s{)ec for Kate fur to cut some sliine 

When she git up dare to speak, 
Wid 'er hair stuck out like a porkerpine, 

An' 'er shoes dat's full of squeak, 
Dey'll fine us niggers ain't berry slow 

Wlien it comes to gals like Kate, 
In de yaller gown at de white folk show 

When she's gwine to gradulate; 
An' me an' mammy, an' brudder Pete, 

Will put our Joseys on. 
An' tuk some sanders o' bread an' meat 

An' de good ole pone of corn. 
An' slip down dare in de middle o'day 

To wait for de afternoon. 
An' hear dem big words Kate will say 

In her gradulating tune. 
Den git-er-long, Tobe, ger-long, ole grey— 

De sun am mighty hot— 
Y(»u must be tinking of what I say 

Or else you'd keep de trot. 



TOADS AN' SICH. 41 

TOADS AN' SICH. 

I likes cold days, an' frosts, an' snow, 
An' whis'lin' winds that blow an, blow, 

An' blow, I do; 
These kine that flies an' skeeters takes, 
An' gives 'em sleep that never wakes 
An' I hate them worser than snakes 

I do don't you? 

I hate toads too, I do, not these 

Here speckly kine, what crawl up trees 

An' sing o' spring's, 
But them thare warty kinder sorts, 
Jes' stickin' full o' great big warts, 
To give to things. 

Them there's the ugliest things 'ats made. 
They come a sneakin' to the shade 

An' hide all day. 
An' sit scrooched up, an' shet both eyes— 
Jes' like they're dead -to get the flies 

To come that way. 

An' 'fore he tells the fly come in 
He smears some 'lasses on his chin, 

An' bout his nose. 
An' when tlie flies they come to sip 
Firs' thing tliey knows he goes "ker zip" 

An' in they goes. 

He's got a slimy, sticky tongue 



42 THE BROKEN RESOLUTION. 

Jes' 'tween two streaks of lightning hung 

It goes so quick. 
An' mus' be jes' erbout so long 



An' bout that thick. 

Them's tonds for you— they call hylodes- 
The great big squattey, warty, toad, 

The worstest sorts. 
An' when one dies cl^an out, an' dead, 
They hist a toad stool at his head — 

An' I git warts. 



THE BROKEN RESOLUTION. 

I said a year ago las' night 

That when the New Year come 
I'd quit my drink an' gittin' tight, 

An' spend my nites to home. 
I even went so far to say 

I'd quit terbacker, too, 
An' throw away my pipe of clay. 

An' never take a chew; 
I resoluted time 'n time 

To jine the church for shure. 
An' give the tenth of every dime 

To help the gospil poor; 
Quit swearin' an' quit by- words, too. 

An' be a gentleman. 
An' do the things I orter to do 

The very bes' I can ; 



THE BROKEN RESOLUTION. 43 

Had cause to be exact in these— 

'Cause on my future life 
Depended one I had to please, 

An' wanted for a wife. 

WTien New Year's come- sorry the day- 
Two days was run in one— 
The old year as it slipped away 

An' new one je^' begun— 
You see, to get my courage up 

To enter my reform, 
I drank from the enthoosin' cup 

To keep my spirits warm. 
An' cum to know the new year in 

From out a stupid doze, 
No better did the new begin 

Than did the ole one close; 
The great reform to enter on 

I had to celebrate. 
An' did it 'fore the old was gone, 

In manner up-to-date. 
When on the street, I tried to meet 

With every blushing miss— 
Like Hobson, too, I smiled so sweet> 

I thought to win a kiss, 
But the perlice hornswoggled me 

And found the calaboose — 
Yes, cause I did like Hobson did 

They said I played the deuce: 
An' Hobson, he was gone to sea, 

Bound for Manila bay, 
An' got three thousand kisses free — 

While I for one must pay. 



44 UNCLE EBEN'S LAMENT. 

An' I am still a bachelor, 

A drunken, swearin' moke, 
Without a thing worth livin' for 

Except to drink an' smoke. 
With good intentions lyin' 'round 

To build my Bridge of Sighs, 
To lead to regions underground 

An' not above the skies. 
An' so I'll lite my pipe of clay 

With good old cut and dry. 
An' whiff again as yesterday. 

While coming through the rye. 



UNCLE EBEN'S LAMENT. 

Bress de Laud dat lubeth Eben^ 

I's a gettin' ole' I know, 
Eph an' Pompey both am votin' 

Lo, dese many years ago. 
Stan' up, 'Lias, side your sis'er, 

Bofe de same age to er day, 
Bofe am twins an' hed one momma 

Till some spirit took' er 'way. 
Golly ! I's gettin' feebler - 

They was born in six'y-two. 
Tears as if de only chil'reu 

Frum de nes' hab gwine an' flew. 

Lissen, honeys ! I's a thinkin' 
Bout de time insix'y-four; 



UNCLE EBEN'S LAMENT. 45 

Me an' momma bof e 'er sittin* 

Jus' outside der cabin door, 
When we heered a cry of "hoo-hoo I" 

"Hoo-hoo, hoo-hoo !" loud an' plain, 
Comin' from de jimsin bushes 

Growiu' long der medder lane. 

"Lissen" sez I, skeered an' trimbly— 

"Tis de gostess, sartin shore !" 
An' your momma tried to skeer it 

As I barred de cabin door; 
An' I nebber seed her af 'er, 

An' I mourn dese many a day 
Till dis heart am sad an' heaby 

An' de brack am turned to gray. 

But de white folks tell me, chil'ren. 

Long afore our weddin' day 
When she libed in Carolina 

She dun mawried 'Rastus Gray; 
Dat dey took an' sole him from her, 

Leabin' Chole, dere pickininnie, 
Hol'in' out 'er hands an' cryin' 

To go long to ole Virginy. 

When de wah was at de middle, 

Lawd, he make his people free, 
An' de niggahs flock to Kansas 

From de gu'f to Tennessee; 
An' I spec your momma, chil'ren, 

Lub dat fust lub enny way, 



46 JUST so. 

All' de gostess hollerin' "hoo-hoo,\ 

Were clat niggah 'Rastiis Gray. 
Las' I heertl were her in Kansas, 

Big brack cloiuls 'er rollin' high, 
An' dey say de whirl win' took her 

Up above de Jasper sky; 
But I's libin' as de blessed 

Fur de realum of endless day, 
When I spec to meet ole momma 
Thout dat botherin' Rastus Gray. 



JUST SO. 

I like ter go up town of nites— 

An' hear the feller's tellin' 
'Bout the times when they liad their fites 

At raisin's er at spellin'; 
It jes' beats the very dickens, 
That they never got no lickin's— 
Them's what 
The other fellers got. 

They jes' sit roun' on kegs of nails 

Or ag'n tlie counter propped 
Chaw terbacker an' tell tales 

'Bout the horses they liad swapped — 
An' all the trades they ever made 
The tother fellers always paid 
For it 
An' they got badly bit. 



JUST SO. ^" 

An' hear 'em tell erbout the nites 

When roastin' ears 'ould blossom 
They took their clogs an' hed the fites 

Ter kill the coons an' possum 
But then I never heard 'em say 
Their dogs let enny git away — 
They downed 
All coons they ever found. 

An' pitchin' horse shoes for the pop- 
Right in front the blacksmith shop, 
An' meetin' folks come 'long an' stop, 

An' wan ter know—" who's on top? " 
There's no one yit as I kin fin', 
Who ever sed he were behin' 
Nor lost 
A blessed game he tossed. 

An' then the goodes' thing they know- 
Is 'bout times they took the gals 
An' went ter see Van Amburg's show, ^^ 
Or else ter parties with their " Sals." 
I never heard of one a gittin' 
From a gurl a blessed mitten— 
Jes who 
He took— he wanted to. 

An' I hev ben ter meetin' to, 

An' heard the preacher sayin' 
'Bout the big meetin's he'd bin through 

When he done all the prayin,' 



48 FAME.. 

An' hundreds got their 'ligion tliere- 
But then I guess it was somewhere 
In Maine 
Or else I guess in Spain. 

An' I hev heard the ole mai(l, too, 

Tell of fellers that they liad— 
An' they hed fellers not a few— 

Wantin' them mos' awful bad— 
But they jes turned their noses up 
An' wouldn't have the lazy pup; 
But then — 
They never foun' their men. 



FAME. 

I do not hanker after fame 

That eums by bloody deeds, 
I druther git it hoin' corn 

Or rise a pullin' weeds; 
I druther git it in the fiel' 

By plowing furrows strait, 
Or git it by a punkin raised— 

The bigges' in the state. 

I do not hanker after f ame— 
The kine that Dewey got— 

A lookin' down a cannon's mouth 
Jes' 'speetin' to be shot, 



FAME. 49 



I druther do my lookin' where 
The cannons never cum. 

I druther hear the 'skeeters sing 
Than hear the flghtin' drum. 

I druther have a little fiel'— 

Jes' suited to my han' — 
Than be the bigges' kinder man 

That lived within the Ian'; 
I druther see my taters grow 

With promise of a crop, 
Than ride erlong the avenues- 

Right at the very top. 

I druther have a little wife— 

An' drest in calerco— 
Than see her drest in fines' silk 

An' ridin' out for show; 
I druther go afoot to church— 

An' set without a pew, 
Than go to where the organ doos^ 

The thing I orter do. 

I druther be jes' what I am, 

An' what I useter be, 
Than go to war an' fin' a fame 

By sinkin' in ths sea; 
J druther calkerlate on how 

To git my daily bread. 
Than hearin' praises born of me 

After meself is dead. 



60 COMING HOME AGAIN. 

I drnther whet my scythe to mow 

With arms that's bare an' brown, 
Or march along my tasseled row 

Of corn to cut it down, 
Than be a huntin' of the earth 

For fame to cum aroun', 
An' like as not lay down an' die 

Eefore its ever foun'. 



COMING HOME AGAIN. 

Well Mary, I'm in Oklahoma, 

To enter the land I was first. 
But the creeks they are thirsting for water. 

And Mary, I'm dying of thirst. 
The insects are stinging and biting, 

Devouring me piecemeal away— 
Mosquitoes and fleas in the night-time 

And fleas and mosquitoes by day. 

The verdant and rolling prairies 

Are naked and brown as a bun. 
And the beautiful climate of summer 

As hot as the Hottentot's sun. 
And water as stagnant and murkey 

As that in our cow-pasture flat 
Is selling at two bits a galhm 

And hard to get even at that. 

But Mary, our homestead's a failure— 
I'm sorry to pen you this line,— 



MY FIRST LOVE. 51 

I see where I failed in my reck'ning, 
Your judgment was better than mine, 

I staked off an eighty at sundown 
And hoisted my tent on the sand 

And dreamed I had made a cool thousand 
By getting my choice of the land. 

But Mary, this morning on rising 

An army was camping around, 
My eighty had been sub-divided 

And boomers were plowing the ground. 
And when I remonstrated with them — 

And did it in Christian like terms— 
They showed me a brace of revolvers 

And said I was food for the worms. 

You know I love peace with my neighbors, 

I couldn't contend with such men, 
So I gave up my claim to these "jumpers" 

And homeward I've started again. 
My love of adventure is over, 

And all of my longing to roam. 
If ever I reach you in safety 

Dear Mary— I'll hold the old home. 



MY FIRST LOVE. 

Twas many and many a year ago 
When I was a tot of three 

I fell in love with a little girl 
But she— didn't fall like me; 



52 MY FIRST LOVE. 

When we baked our mud pies in the road — 
In the shade of a rugbug tree — 

I tokl that little girl I loved her— 
She said — "she didn't love me." 

One day we swung on the garden gate 

She stubbed her toe on a stone, 
I told her then that it hurt as bad 

As if I had stubbed ray own; 
I tore a piece from my old blue waist— 

As low down piece as could be— 
And wrapped her toe— did she love me 
then ? 

She said -"she couldn't love me." 

I let her slide on our cellar door 

On smoothest plank in the sun; 
And if I had but a peach or two 

I would always give her one; 
And if my gum I had chewed awhile 

And the little girl I'd see 
I would take tliat gum and give to her. 

But she— she wouldn't love me. 

She use to sit for to watch me dig 

For the iBsli worms in the shade 
And I tliink she told me forty times 

She'ld never die an old maid, 
I think she spoke of a party once 

Of a boy and girl afraid 
In going home— at some telephone poles 

That were out on a dress parade. 



MY FIRST LOVE. 53 

And they went back where the party was 

And were chased by turn-turns roar 
And whistling snipes of the Garfield 
braves 

As they walked hind legs before, 
And measly owls from the beaver swamp 

In walloping coats of blue 
Snapped lantern jaws as they chased the 
boy 

With his stem wind gun in view. 

And the little girl she almost "booed" 

As she told the tale of the three 
And wondered if she had been the girl 

And the boy he had been me 
If I would have run as that boy run 

On his killdeer legs so free 
And I said, oh no, no, no, no, no 

Then she said she— she loved me. 

Then I took her down to Walker's store 

With my pants well out at the knee 
And bought her a wad of pepsin gum 

That grew on a pillberry tree. 
And she started off on her pigeon toes 

With her freckled face she sped 
With lips warped up to her peekid nose 

And hair of a golden red. 

But the wind blew out of the East one day 
'Twas a salt sea breath it blew 



54 MY FIRST LOVE. 

And it wore the germs of the whooping 
cough 
It had picked up in Peru 
It came like the march of a Cavalier 

In his martial cloak of grey 
With the mist of the morn for a robe he 
wore 
In his deadly search for prey. 

My feet were covered with mud and slime 

My face from the mulberry tree 
When the whooping cough marched down 
the road 

But he had no whoop for me, 
But the little girl I loved so well 

That was always clean and neat 
Who stubbed her toe at the garden gate 

And skinned her pretty feet 
She took the whooping cough and then 

They sent for King and Cobbs 

Who are always spooking round you know 

In search for just such jobs. 
And the Doctors came with their ipecac 

And their balsam of tolu 
And King put a mustard plaster twice 

Way down in the sole of her shoe 
'Twill draw the blood to her feet said Cobbs 

And that will never do 
So he put a plaster on to her head 

And they drawed her clean into. 



THANKSGIVING AT DAMASCUS. 55 

THANKSGIVING AT DAMASCUS. 

Thanksgiving at Damascus, it comes but once a year. 
Most like a second Christmas time in goodies that was here 
Roast turkey, duck and stuff in'— ge whiz what apple sass- 
And when you licked your platter clean, you had a chance 

to pass 
Your dish up to the head agin an' git another fill, — 
^^ hich hatched up the beginnin' of a comin' doctor 

bill. 
Some sought their greatest pleasure in the path of soli- 
tude, 
Some sang the thankful meter with the dog an' gun an* 

wood. 
Some took of "Innisfillen," or California port: 
To some the supremest pleasure was the evening spent 

in court, 
The churches all was closed but one, an' that one held 

'em all, 
In kind of union services they has here every fall. 
Whereat they hev a sermon spoke an' after that a spell 
A kind o' pop up meetin' like fur evry one to tell 
Of all the blessin's they received, likewise the bless's 

missed. 
Of what a strugglin' time they hed the Devil to resist. 
They thanked the Lord fur bless's had, the known an' the 

unknown. 
That when they asked for bread they got the bread and 

not a stone. 
The preacheress— a Quakeress, at benediction rose, 
An' wished to give a partin' thank before the meetin's 

close,— 



56 THE HUNT— AN EPISODE. 

Not for November victories when Dimocrats went down, 
Not fur the great big wagons full the farmers haul to 

town, 
But 'cause tliat on next 'lection clay the statutes had it 

'rote 
The female wimmin had a chance of castin' of a vote. 
And so they thanked the Lord for this, but never sed a 

word 
About the legislator man who gave,— and not the Lord. 
And so I spec' election time, when it shall come again, 
Will find me stayin' home at work without my Phoebe 

Jane. 
You'll find her at the pollin' place a 'hoopin' up her man, 
*Tis so with all the wimmen folks, from Beersheba unto 

Dan. 
You'll find me in the kitchen where the baby just awoke, 
With paregoric bottle, and one suspender broke. 



THE HUNT-AN EPISODE. 

"What is that father?" 

"A lawyer, child. 
It's a S alem lawyer, weird and wild. 
That took the gim from the rusty rack 
And shut both eyes when he heard it crack, 
And liired a farmer to shoot the squirrels 
Wliile he stayed in the house and teased the girls 
And oiled his hands to make them brown 
To show his wife when he went to town." 



SPELLIN' SCHOOL AT BRICKTOWN. 57 

*'What is that father?' 

"The farmer, son, 
He's coming home for his work is done ; 
The crack of his rifle often heard 
Has brought to his sack a squirrel or bird, 
And that lawyer there will hand him pelf 
Then swear that he shot them all himself. 
And "Munchausen" will blanch with very shame 
When the lawyer tells how he shot the game." 

*'Are they always thus?" 

The father smiled 
And gave a nod to the thoughtful child. 
•'It is always thus,— they grow and feed 
On soil where the devil sows the seed; 
They milk the cows that their clients hold 
And "court" their "prayers" for their hard earned gold; 
They seldom toil, and they never spin, 
But they gather a host of the shekels in." 



SPELLIN* SCHOOL AT BRICKTOWN. 

They had a spellin' school t'other night— at Bricktown 
school— 

An' sent a notice down to us who go to Golden Rule— 

That's the deestrict I'm from — to a lot o' us big fellers. 

Fer us to git a wagon load— an' bring down, of our spell- 
ers 

An' try an' rassel spellin' ; well we 'eluded we would try 



58 spellin' school at bricktown. 

An' git a load of girls an' boys an' have a little high, 
Goin' an' comin' from the spellin'— an' so I asked Lize 

Ong 
An' Peely's girls— Till an' Juli' Ann— if they 'Id go along. 
They was big in fersich a scheme— an' I was too, of 

course— 
An' sol got Milt Windle to jme me with his horse, 
An' git Joe Pettit's wagon. Well, we filled the bed with 

hay 
Clean up above the very top, an' started qn the w^ay 
To gether up the girls— an' I am just a laughin' yet 
Ter see them pilin' in that hay to hunt a place to set 
So as to be 'long side of me— an' all that I could do 
Was stretch my arms out both a ways an' be a holdin' 

two. 
An' I could hear 'em whisperin' like to each other, tellin' 
They knowed that I'd be the one to beat Bricktown a 

spellin'." 

The road was awful rough, an' they did drive to beat all 

sin — 
It jolted me to t'other end from where I started in 
Up by the driver; all the hay had slid from under me 
An' I was 'bout as well shook up as medder hay can be, 
As Bricktown came in view— an' they was havin' lots o' 

fun 
A playin' ring— the big ones was— an' little ones would 

run 
To git each other's tag, as books was called an' all went 

in, 
An' we piled out an' got inside before the thing begin. 



spellin' school at bricktown. 59 

We stood aroun' the stove a bit to take keer of our nose. 
An' Juli' Ann took ofE her shoes an' said that hers was 

froze; 
An' they 'pinted choosers, of two girls I didn't know, 
An' one had freckles on her face whitewashed to keep 

from show — 
An' they was slickers, an' went up head beginnin' of a 

row 
An' began a choosin' spellers; — well the one I loved the 

worst 
She guessed firs' page an' got firs' choice an' she took me 

first 
An' I stood by her at the head, an' she kep' me a tellin' 
Who was the bes' in Golden Rule for her to choose for 

spellin' 
They kep' a choosin' that a way till all of 'em was took 
An' then a feller givin' out, he opened up his book— 
An old McGuffey speller — an' said we'ed begin at "blaze'* 
An' spell a round or two he guessed, an' then spell cross 

a ways 
An' enny of us missin' words first time, couldn't right 

'em. 
But mus' sit down— pass to nex' an' so on adfinitumf 
We hadn't spelled roun' but twice when only four was 

standin, — 
I was one— an' very shure that I would make my landin* 
An' come out head ; when my word come an he gave me 

"mealy,"— 
An' I got so uster spellin' Juli Anna Peely 
That I got a double e instead of e-a in the word 
An' that lef * me in goin' down the nex' one to the third— 



fJO spellin' school at bricktown. 

An' the girl what did my choosiu', she beat the Gohlen 

Rule 
An' then tliey throwed their liats and yelled "three cheers 

for Bricktown school." 

An' then we all stood up agin— for spellin' cross a ways— 
An' took the same old places, an' started in at "praise" 
With my girl first— a leadin off— an' then t'other head, 
An' gee and haw they took their turns at eatin' words he 

read ! 
There was 'bout thirteen stand in' an' some on either side 
An' looked to me like bein' a mighty close divide 
An' I was jes through spellin' of a little easy word 
When he give out "animule ' as plain as I ever heard. 
First one missed and then the nex' an' so on to the tother 
An' all the Goldeu Rule went down but me an' Julia's 

brother— 
An' he went down, an' all the rest that spelled there for 

Bricktown 
An' lef me stannin' yet - an' all the rest was down, 
An' I was standin' like a rock— an' I up an' said 
A-n' an n-i anni— an' then I shook my head — 
An' then went on an' finished it, m-u-l-e mule, annimule 
An' then you oughter heard 'em yell, three cheers for the 

Golden Rule. 



A HEALTH. 61 

A HEALTH. 

Let's drink us a health to soldier boys rations 

Of old rusty bacon that's always in store, 
The strength of the boy, and hope of the nations. 

And monarch alike of division and corps. 
Not flitch of the swine well fed by a brewer, 

Not fattened on moss on the flea-ridden sand. 
Nor those from the stone frescoed hills of Missouri, 

Nor sleek with the fat from our northermost land ; 
But old and prolific of offspring by dozens, 

And bare of a hair on the shoulder or side— 
The pair that old Noah ark-saved, were her cousins — 

But thicker than theirs her rhinoceros hide. 
As long as a rail she has been at her killing 

As poor as the wood-work of harrow, I know. 
And surely she died just because she was willing, 

And was biding in years the time she should go, 

She was bitten by cur, and mastiff and hound. 

And clubbed on the head for her stealing of swill, 
Been shot with great charges of buckshot when found . 

A-nosing for corn that was spilled at the mill ; 
And then as a corpse on a scaffold has lain, 

Been doused in a vat of hot water and lye 
Been hung on a cross— and been severed in twain. 

With her head to the ground and her heels to the sky; 
Has been savored with salt and tormented with smoke, 

And was hammered and poinded and hung up and dried, 
This swine of our youth of the toughness of oak, 

This mother swine hog that has petered and died. 

ong years it has been since her trials endured — 



62 HOW THE "NEWS" TOOK WITH THE PEOPLE. 

Long years since she foraged the forests afar — 
Long years since her sides for the soldiers were cured' 

And put in a barrel awaiting a war. 
Let's drink to her health— the soldier boys' ration, 

The flitch of the swiue that is always in store, 
The strength of the boy, and the strength of the nation, 

The old mother flitch that is leader in war. 



HOW THE ''NEWS'' TOOK WITH THE PEOPLE. 

Up the street went the newsboy fleet 

With a bundle of papers under his arm. 

And he caught the glance of the maidens sweet 

And the farmer fiesli from his festive farm; 

And he yelled witli a lusty voice and loud 

With the newsboy twang— "The Seeking News"— 

As he rushed as a host cart through a crowd, 

Or a News man, after some interviews. 

And the nap of the afternoon was broke 

Of the housewife, through witli lier daily chores, 

As she heard the words of the newsboy spoke. 

She arose, and rushed barefdot out of doors. 

And she made for the boy witli the "Sebring News" 

And she purchased six— right on the spot, 

And she never waited to don her shoes 

Till she read each line in the News she got. 

And they came from the streets, and lanes and ways, 
On nimble feet and on wtM)den pegs— 



AN EASTER SONATA. 63 

Like boys run after a band that plays 
Or a hungry man for the food he begs: 
And the town was astir from park to place 
And a bedlam reigned in the city hall, 
While the dogs helped on in the merry chase 
As they heard the sound of the newsboy's call. 

The fire bells rang; and the new patrol 
With our mayor abroad in a new chip hat, 
And drove by a fellow as black as coal 
Pushed wildly on where the crowd was at. 
And the council came, and the two lone "cops" 
With mace in hand and in navy blues 
Rushed for tlieir game, but they lost their props. 
When they found the row was to get the News. 

The cats backed up on the back stair stoops. 
And the horses broke their straps and neighed, 
The chickens fled in fright to their coops 
While the unlearned man knelt down and prayed; 
And never a bit did the bedlam cease 
Till each one bought and devoured the News, 
When the farmer smiled— went home in peace. 
And the dear housewife— put on her shoes. 



AN EASTER SONATA 

Miss Avarilla Alice Jones, you all heard about her, 

She bloomed into society, a score of years ago. 
And every party that we had, was incomplete without her 



64 AN EASTER SONATA. 

She always had her pick and choice of who should be 
her beau; 
And every boy that 1 knew of, was on Avarilla smitten 

And she just had a picnic time in giving them the mit- 
ten. 

She always wore a low necked dress all loaded down 
with posies; 
She had a face just like a rose but more than ten times 
sweeter; 
She looked just like an angel would upon a bed of roses. 
And I would walk for twenty squares to get a chance 
to meet her. 
To catch a glance and get a smile Oh ! there was nothing 
sweeter, 
It filled my cup of happiness above the topmost meter. 

I used to think she poured on me her most bewitching 
glances 
And really was in love witli me— I did upon my honor — 
And strung her little bow for me with Cupid's fairy lances 
That I might revel in the bliss of feasting eyes upon 
her. 
She pressed me and caressed me, as sportive as a kitten 
Until I asked to see her home— and, gosh ! I got the 
mitten. 

Well, after that I steeled my heart against her wily glances 
And said the sea was full of fish of better than the 
captured; 

That I was free within the sea to fish and take my chances 
That I with Avarilla Jones no longer was enraptured 



AN EASTER SONATA. ^ 

And from that day she mittened me her winsome ways 
were ending 
And through the gates of " Old Maid's Land " her sua 
was swifty trending. 

Tis twenty winters since that day and time has been uo 
laggard, 
He's worked upon that old maid Jones and furrowed 
out her features, 
And left her poor, and lank, and lean with carewora 
looks and haggard, 
A melancholy old recluse— a toothless padded creature^ 
With day dreams of what might have been in life's ro- 
seated morning 
Had she but fawned upon my hopes instead of idly 
scorning. 

Till Easter Day, she was not seen for years at our class 
meeting. 
Nor had she any services of other kinds attended. 
That day three times she went to church and took the top- 
most seating. 
And even with the choir her voice in broken notes were 
blended ! 
And everybody said " Old Rill " was trying for to run il 
But that was false —she only went to show her Easter 
Bonnet. 

And such a bonnet as it was, with flowers from hill ant 
heather. 
The whole jam pile had gone to seed where nature*^ 
crown was fading. 



66 A DILEMMA. 

And forty difiEerent colors there.were intertwined together* 

Above the head of gold and grey fast into silver 

shading — 

The only love she had on earth, oh, how she doted on it, 

And she was married to that love, that darling Easter 

Bonnet. 



A DILEMMA. 

I'm tangled 'bout religion, till I don't know what to do 

For ma, she is a Catholic, and pa he is a Jew, 

An tliey're all the time a tightin' 'bout whicli religion's 

best 
To lead them 'cross to Canaan where the wicked go to rest; 
Pa says Ids Christ is coming, an' ma says he's come and 

gone, 
*Long witli the 'postle Peter, an' the water preachin' John; 
So while pa keeps a watchin' for his coming in a cloud, 
Ma'shuntin 'round in Armathy to find Ids empty shroud; 
Pa says he wants no masses said, to help unload his sin, 
Nor priests who charge admittances to heaven to help 

him in; 
Ma says she wants no Rabbi who the risen Lord deny 
To preach to her of heaven or its beauty glorify; 
Pa says he has the Bible to substantiate his creed, 
An' ma the same old Bible to supply her every need, 
So you cannot much be blaming if I'm nearly out at sea 
In finding a religion that is good enough for me; 
I don't know wliere to anchor, an' I don't know what to do- 
For ma she is a Catholic, and pa, he is a Jew. 



A DILEMMA. 67 

A DILEMMA. 

I know a lovely widow, she's the turn of thirty-two 

As pretty as a fairy that old Thetis tried to woo 
And when I chance to meet her she will turn her face 
awry 
But she gives me heavenly glances an' I hate to pass 
her by. 

Her mourning weeds become her— in her plain and sable 
gown. 
She is more of an enchantress than is all the girls in 
town, 
An* I sometimes get to thinkin' by myself when in the 
wood 
An' huntin' of the mushroons, that I only wish I could 

Jes' be along aside her sometimes when she's alone 
An' tell her of the feelin' that I'm keepin' as my own. 

She's as plump as any partridge and more graceful in 
her walk 
An' can talk on any subject that a fellow wants to talk. 

An' I would'nt care for dying— 'pears to me 'twere heaven 
to be 
The husband of the widder like the feller useter be 
An' have her hoverin' round him as he crossed the dark 
abyss 
An likely bendin' o'er him for to soothe him with a kiss 

As he went within the shadow where no landin' was in 
view 
To await the resurrection of the trumpet when it blew 



68 A DILEMMA. 

An' then I get to thinkin,' if we both had married lier 
An' both had gone to heaven an' she knew jes' where 
we were 

An' she should follow after— do you think we should 
agree ? 
Would she love the other fellow, or would give her 
love to me ? 
[t is mighty nigh perplexing to a feller who can doubt 
To be figgering on such questions an' be making noth» 
ing out. 

An' the Bible ought to tell us so's to put the thing to rest 
If a woman marries often, why which one she loves the 
best 

An' if all had gone to heaven, an' were seated in a row 
An' we all shall know each other as the Bible tells us so^ 

An' the widow I had married, an' the other fellows too, 
Came sweeping into glory, when St. Peter let her 
through, 
An' should take the firstist husband for to walk about 
the town 
An' see the golden paving of the streets a going down. 

Do you think that I'd be singing hallelujah to tlie Lamb 
Or wisliing tliat the firstist was a serving out his damn 

Would it be the kinder heaven that a feller 'spects to see 
When he gets aboard the vessel for to cross the Jasper 
sea. 



THE CANDIDATES. 69 

THE CANDIDATES. 

The candidates are eomin' from the fiel' an' 

from the shop, 
They are comin' thick and faster, like as if 

they never stop. 
They all are groomed for winners, an' they've 

got a friendly grip, 
An' their han' is in their pocket to the boodler 

for a tip. 

They are comin' in from Beaver, from Goshen 

an' from Green, 
From Springfield an' from Milton an' a host or 

more between, 
From Ellsworth an' from Boardman— an' the 

good Lawd hide his face — 
As we try to count the numbers from the city in 

the race. 

They are hankerin' after office, an' they scent 

the heavy till, 
An' their cousins an' their uncles are a workin' 

with a will; 
An' they offen fib a little— jes' a little on the 

sly— 
For in introoducin' politics ole Adam learned 

to lie; 

An' they rake among the carrion for their op- 
ponents' abuse. 

For fault or else a failure as a dish for present 
use. 



70 THEY ALL WANT WAR. 

Or they tell a horrid feature in an opponent's 

career, 
Of liis prostootin' virtue or his appetite for 

beer. 

They go to every meetin' where the pious folks 

are led, 
An' walk like Ananias 'inong the patriotic 

dead, 
An' think that every feller must doff his hat 

and coat, 
An' give his time an' money for ter help him 

git a vote. 

Oh, the candidates are comin', I can hear 'em 
in the breeze. 

As thick as summer June bugs as they're flit- 
tin' 'mong the trees. 

An' the good Lawd show his pity on the poor 
deluded set, 

Who hold the sack for snipin', but a snipe will 
never get. 



THEY ALL WANT WAR. 

We was sittin' in the grocery— Jack Dugan and 

McXeal, 
An' I was kinder mincin' on a piece of orange 

peel 
I pulled from off the counter— when in comes 

Billy Tool 



THEY ALL WANT WAR. 71 

An' sez, "BedadI old Cleveland's got the drop 

on Johnny Bull. 
He has spit on both his hands the lion's tail to 

twist, 
Onless he took the medicine he said he would 

resist ; 
An' so he sent a somethin' out to congress as a 

feeler, 
Which said he'd fix the English lines along 

with Venzueler. 
An' as it looks to me," he sez, "an' seein' what 

'twas for, 
It looks jes' like a little scrap a leadin'to a war." 

Jack Dugan's eyes was flashin' as he jumped 

from off his seat 
An' swore he had a hanker in' for to taste the 

English meat. 
"Jes' let the blarsted redcoats come," he said, 

into our ports — 
They'll get a taste o' kingdom come from forty- 

'leven forts. 
An' if they get a chance to put their men upon 

the land 
They'll find a million Yankee boys with muskets 

in their hand. 
Why, gosh I the North an' South is one; there 

ain't no rebels— say. 
If Johnny wants to tussel Sam— Goodbye to 

Canada; 
An' if he wants to sail his men across the 

foamin' sea, 



12 THEY ALL WANT WAR. 

Ould Ireland will be to homeinvitin' him to tea." 
An' tlii'n he spit on botli his hands, and pulling 

down his vest, 
IJe bought some old Virginy twist to put his 

nerves to rest. 



McNeal, he grew excited, and was ready for 
the fray, 

Although he was a rebel an' had worn the 
rebel gray. 
"America must own," he said, an' rule Amer- 
ica; 

An' if a call for volunteers shall come as 
sixty-one, 

You'll find old Jim McXeal in front, a loadin 
of his gun." 

But Billy Tool, he said as how he rather kinder 

guessed 
If all was goin' to war he'd stay at home and 

rest. 
"I have a mind to let 'em figlit I wouldn't be 

Hgin it - 
Pervided, if they wanted men, they wouldn't 

count me in it. 
'*A war," he said, "would surely make my mut- 
ton go up higher, 
A' feller wouldn't have to ride a week to hunt 

a buyer. 
An' corn will jump to sixty cents, an' wheat 

will touch a dollar, 



THE DEVIL'S MORTGAGES. 73 

An' all the other grain an' sich will very 
likely foller. 

An' wool -ge whiz!— where it will go, as high 
as sixty-four, 

An' horses for the cavalry will bring a hun- 
dred more." 

An' then he darted out the door, the same he 
entered in. 

An' bought a half a hundred sheep from land 
poor Josey Shinn. 

And I— I felt hilarious— and war was my 

desire, 
And so I took my p3ncil out and marked my 

prices higher. 



THE DEVIL'S MORTGAGES. 

The Bible says the worl' was made a pur- 
pose for mankin' 

An' every feller had a right to everything 
he fln'. 

The wattah runnin' in the creeks, the 
fishes in the swim 

The honey hidin' in the rocks an' apples 
on the lim' 

The cattle on a thousan' hills, the med- 
der down below 

They jes' as much belong to me as any 
one I know. 



THE DEVIL'S MORTGAGES. 

The Lawd lie says the worl' is his— hi? 

angels oberseers 
An' we the fellers ruiinin' it an' farmin' 

on the sheers 
He sed that he mus' have a tenth of 

everything that grows 
Ai' Satan hoi's the raor'gages for what 

the people owes 
Aq' when the judgment day cunis roun' 

an' we a owin' yet 
I spec' the Devil will foreclose an' git us 

for the debt. 
On3 day the Jews an' Gentiles got to 

talkin' bout the plan 
An' each he said his father was the one 

who owned the Ian' 
An' so they got to scrappin'— or at leas' 

it so appears 
'Bout which un had a right to pull an' 

eat sum roasln ears. 
The Jews they said they cleaned the Ian' 

an' picked an' piled the stone 
The Gentiles lowed the seed was theirs 

an' claimed it all their own 
An' so they fit a battle close beside the 

Tiber sea 
Which ended in an armistice an' formin' 

this decree 
That he wlio firs' possessed the Ian' an* 

fenced it as his own 
It gave him all tlie Ian' he fenced an' all 

the Ian' Jiad grown 



AT QUAKER MEETIN' '?» 

An' when he traded off his Ian' they broke 

a stone into 
One piece he gave it to the court the 

other piece to you 
An' he who hel' the broken' bit, to fit the 

court house stone 
Had all the Ian' an' all the crops upon it 

for his own 
An' so they cum to count the Lawd as 

dispossessed of all 
They paid their brother but the Lawd 

they never paid at all 
An' hence the Devil hoi's his court for 

provin' up his claim 
An' rakes so many sinners off to satisfy 

the same. 



AT QUAKER MEETIN^ 

I never had a feelin' what the meetin' 

folks has got, 
To let a feller tramp my toes an' never 

care a grot — 
To let 'em lie and steal of me, an' cheat 

me all they can. 
An, then jes' down an pray for them to be 

an hones' man. 
I'm built upon another plan from meetin' 

folks as these. 
With san' a stickin' in my craw instead 

of prayin' knees, 



76 AT QUAKER MEETIN' 

An' ev'ry insult offered uie— as trampin' 

of my toes— 
Will fin' my dander glttin' up, an' strik- 

in tellin' blows; 
An' I have 'lowed for many years that 

ev'ry one wlio dares 
To heap abuses onto me— he need'nt look 

for prayers. 



Today I went ter meeting'— jes' to hear 

'em preach an' pray— 
I went ter Quaker meetin'— 'cause I 

al'ays leaned tliat way — 
I could liear tlie clock a-tickin' as it 

leaned ag'in the shelf, 
An' my heart it kep' a bumpin' an' a 

tliumpin' of itself, 
An' the pious congregation in sweet, sub- 
missive will 
Were as the waves of Jordan, when they 

tol' 'em to be still; 
Then 'mid the quiet people— close to 

where I nervous sat 
In the stillness of the meetin'— an awful 

stillness that — 
Arose a good oF Quaker— and his name 

was Atherton - 
An' tol' 'em 'bout the prayin' folks an' 

what their prayers had done. 
He said he offen was cas' down, with sper- 

its runnin' low, 



AT QUAKER MEETIN'. 77 

An' he could almos' hear an' feel the devil 

come an' go; 
An' yet he al'ays kep' him off, when 

sneakin' onawares, 
By gittin' down upon his knees an' skeer- 

in' him with prayers. 
Then he tol' 'em 'bout some chil'ren, but 

I'm poor at 'memberin' names 
That the jedge who heard the trial had 

consigned 'em to the flames; 
An' he said they was good chil'ren, jes' 

as good as good kin be. 
An' they lived with Hebrew parents in 

the Ian' of Gallilee; 
An' he tol' 'em how they put 'em in a fur- 
nace awful hot, 
An' the Hebrews kep' a prayin' that the 

fire would touch 'em not. 



The story was a good 'un, an' it interested 

me. 
But got me jes' as angry as a feller well 

kin be, 
An' I felt had I been near him— the jedge 

I would have slain, 
Would hit him jes' as Abel was- an' I 

have been the Cain. 
Then he went a little furder— an' tol' 'em 

how they seen 
The chil'ren playin' in the fire as playin' 

on the green, 



78 AT QUAKER MEETIN' 

An' when they roasted 'em a day, jes' to 

appease his ire, 
They come right out tlie furnace door— 

and 'thout a smell of fire. 

Then my feelin's they was melted, an' 

my pity turned about 
From the chil'ren in the furnace to the 

jedge an' jury out, 
An' I half believe the prayin', as the Qua- 
ker said they prayed. 
Took the fire from out the furnace, an' 

the han' of murder stayed, 
An' I pity jedge an' jury at knowin' their 

decree 
By Hebrew prayers was beaten in that 

Ian' across the sea. 
An' maybe that the meetin' folks who 

pray witli great desire 
For those wlio lie an' steal of me are 

heapin' coals of fire 
Upon the heads of those who do the 

things so wrong to me, 
Jes' like the Hebrew people did who 

prayed in Gallilee. 



ABIJAH SCARCEOFFAT. "^^ 



ABIJAH SCARCEOFFAT. 

We all know 'Bijah, the peddler man— 
That is, Pa and Ma and me and Dan, 
And my old aunty, Malindy Ann- 
Comes to our house whenever he can, 
Carries a pack 
Onto his back, 
Filled with the cutest and purtiest things. 
With tlireads and thimbles, and rubber and rings, 
Laces and ribbons, and checkers and dice, 
And knives and pencils and everything nice, 
And a wee little box with a lid and a spring 
He pushes on— and the ugliest thing 
That ever I seen jumps out at me, 
With the longest beard I ever see, 
Whiter'n snow 
It is, I know. 
And only one leg below the knee, 
I can't tell which 'tis— monkey or man- 
But 'Bijah says he carries it 'cause 
It'll scratch and bite with its teeth and claws 
The girls and boys 
Who touch his toys. 
And if they should take one thing to keep, 
He would come some night when they're asleep 
And bring a feller what's bigger nor he. 
That lives in the woods in a hollow tree, 
And drag them up to the chimley top 
And black their faces -and— let 'em drop, 
He says, one day a little girl took 



80 ABIJAH SCARCEOFFAT. 

A row of pins and a pocketbook, 
And he got a sack 
From out of his pack 

And put her in, and she can't come back. 



You don't know 'Bijah, the peddler man? 
Why, I've known him as long as Dan! 
He's awful high and blind of one eye 
And he wears a patch upon each knee. 
With two behind for his coat to see; 
And he has side whiskers on his chin 
That reach clean up till his ears begin; 
He's slim and poor, and he says that that 
Is 'cause his name is Scarceoffat. 
But Pa, he won't let me tell you all, 
'Cause he has told me along toward fall. 
My old maid aunty— Malindy Ann- 
Will marry Abijah, if she can! 
And she's as tall and bony as he, 
Mouth like a burr on a chestnut tree. 
Mole on her nose, black as a crow. 
And walks with a wibly-wably go, 
And all huuiped up with the rlieumatiz, 
Worser by lots than the back of his. 

She lives with us 

And raises a fuss 
Whenever us youngsters laugh or crow. 
And I don't care how soon she'll go. 
I'll bet when 'Bijah has her awhile 
He'll stroke his beard and his blood with bile. 
When she tries on him to be his boss, 



ABIJAH SCARCEOFFAT. 81 

Ami gets to acing so tarnel cross, 
Ami scolds him like she use' to me, 
And stomps her foot, for to let her be. 
Then Uncle 'Bijah will have to bring 
His box with a lid, and press the spring, 
And let her see that ugliest thing, 
And drag her up to the chimley top. 
And blacken her face, and let her drop. 



SOME OBSERVIN^S. 

When the moon is at the fuUin', an' the rain 

a-pourin' down. 
An' the medders jes a swimmin'— like as if 

they're goin' ter drown, 
An' the oats begin a-mouldin', an' the shock a- 

gittin' green. 
An' the flies a-makin' cattle look a little lank 

an' lean; 
It's a deal o' sight o' comfort ter a feller— in a 

horn— 
To enumerate his blessin's and be glad that 

he is born. 

When he gits up in the mornin' for the kin'lin' 

wood ter git — 
An' the rails an' piles o' corncobs are a jeS 

a-soppin wet, 
An' the ax is in the holler, an' the hatchet in 

the shed. 



SOME OBSERVIN'S 

An' the wife an' little urchins they is snorin 

in the bed; 
Its a (leal o' sight o' comfort for a feller then 

ter know 
That there won't be eny kin'lin' in the regions 

down below. 

When he's workin' in the harves', an' the sweat 

from ev'ry pore 
Is the pushin' of another for the makin' room 

for more, 
An' his shirt upon his elbows, an' his trouser^ 

'bout his knees 
They is jes a-gapin' open ter tlie playin' of the 

breeze. 
It's a deal o' sight o' comfort for ter know the 

preacher said, 
"That by sweatin' of the forehead we mus' eat 

our daily bread." 

When he's diggin' of his taters an' the crop is 

mighty slim— 
With a nary peach nor apple ter be seen upon 

a lim' 
With the colic 'mong the chickens an' the eggs 

a-gittin skeerce. 
An' the payin' rent a-comin', and the boss 

a-lookin' fierce- - 
It's a deal o' sight o' comfort ter confront an 

empty purse. 
An' to set to ruminatin' 'bout a ride within a 

hearse. 



A WANDERING REVERY. 83 

When the bugs are on the squashes an' the 

smut is on the corn, 
An' the wife too feeble winded for ter blow the 

dinner horn, 
An' the dog he gits ter mournin'— in a dole- 

fulistie whine — 
An' you hear the serooeh owl trem'lin' with his 

voices in the pine, 
An' the fire begins to sputter an' the week 

a-buruin' low. 
An' you have ter look behin' you for the devil 

as you go — 
It's a deal o' sight o' comfort in the 'mergencies 

as this 
To forgit the overtakin's in the thanks for 

them you miss. 



A WANDERING REVERY, 

Up the road comes the clatter of feet 
And the lumbering sound of a wabbling trap, 

And a charger snorts on a new made street 
Where the urchins play a game of crap. 

And a fellow with goggles and one with specks- 
TV' ith measly looks and sunburnt hair — 

With looks as wise as preacher's texts 
Says, "say my sonny pray tell me where 
Is the beautiful city of Sebring?" 



84 A WANDERING REVERY. 

And (lashing maidens in waists of blue 

With faces as freckled as turkey eggs, 
And stepping as light as a kangaroo 

And as spry as a boy mumbley pegs— 
Comes up the track on the railroad ties,— 

And mops the sweat from her fading brow— 
And glancing around to her left she spies. 

A fellow in blouse a milking a cow 
And she asks for the road to Sebring? 

A portly man and a spindle shank 

Emerge from the smoking car a pair — 
With a vinegar man witli looks as blank 

As the open smiles of a polar bear- 
Waltz up the steps where the toot-toot stops. 

And light the end of a spent cigar. 
And ask of a nigger, working his chops 

To tell him the way, and about liow far. 
To the new made city of Sebring. 

The wagons go by with brick and stone, 
And the drivers whistle an unknown tune, 

And the butcher's cart with gristle and bone 
Goes hippety hop each afternoon. 

And strangers they come and go by scores, 
And divil a bit will their business tell 

As our mayor sits in his stoop and snores 
And dreams he is telling as lie must tell 
Of the way to the city of Sebring. 

And the telephone man, with horse and cart; 
Is spouting along for his right of way 



OUR LEAP YEAR PARTY. 85 

And the barber and butcher a place to start 
To gather their bills— but never to pay: 

And Satan is sending his imps afloat 
And they all come in— but they go away— 

For the wolf is known in another coat 
And nary a bum will have a stay 
In the beautiful city of Sebring. 



OUR LEAP YEAR PARTY. 

Leap year is jes' the bigges' fun fer me 

That ever you did see— 
Nothin' partic'lar 'bout it az I knows 

'Ceptin' for the girl boze 
An, girls turn to boze in leap years, an' they, 

They have the bills ter pay, 
Fer oysters, an' fer soda cream an' gum; 

An' when the shows they cum. 
They hev ter git the tickets, an' then go, 

An' they be the boys' bow 
An go an' git the boys, an' find a seat 

An' git goodies ter eat 
Fer us 'tween plays; an' fore our boze they cum, 

We jes' sit roun' at home 
With nuthin' 'tall ter do but sit an' wait. 

An' rock in front the gate. 
An' mebby nuss tlie cat, an' stroke its fur, 

Jes' fer ter hear it purr. 
I hadn't had a bow— not one jes' right- 
Till week ago ternight. 



86 THE THREE OLE MAIDS. 

An' then I hed one — an' she cum fer me 
Ter go with her an' be 
Her girl at a leap year party then ter be 
In the Academy; 
An' I sed— "Yes"— an' so I went an' dressed 
Up in my very best— 
An' she waited till I dressed - an' then we 
started for the party; 
She sed I were to play girl all the way 
An' act jes' like as they 
Do every way — an' she would act an' do 
Jes' like a boy all through. 
An' it was fun, I tell you now, fer me 
Ter see them try ter be 
Jes'like the boys— like hens that try ter crow 
They sounded though ; 
Well, after while one of tlie girls— our boze 
She tore some of her clothes— 
Her dress it was— an' she jes' hed ter be 
Jes' like a boy, you see— 
An' so she up an' sed in boyish cants, 
"Oh Mister Mills has tore his pants." 



THE THREE OLE MAIDS. 

There once was three ole maidens sat a sippin,' of 

their tea, 
They all hed been as han'some, jes' as han'some as 

can be— 
An' each one went ter tellin' of jes' how it came 

erbout 



THE THREE OLE MAIDS. 87 

That others got their Nathans an that they was lef ' 

witiiout. 
The firs' one said she'd offers for to marry by the 

score 
But seas was full of o' fishes an' she went a fishin' 

more, 
An' she baited with her beauty an' foun' out rather 

late 
That beauty when it's fadin' is an antiquated bait, 
So in her desperation she decided not ter wait 
But marry the nex' feller— but he hadn't cum ter 

date. 
Another had begotten on a very modern plan 
A model superstructure of a very model man, 
An' she ter be his idol— an' a very summer queen 
A lollin' in the posies when the grass is growin 

green, 
While he should do the plantin' an' a tendin' of the 

corn. 
An, rise an' git her breakfas' in the bright an" 

dewey morn. 
His eyes and his complexion she had noted down» 

with care. 
An' even cum to namin' of the color of his hair; 
But fellers all are faulty, an' she couldnt think 

ter wed 
A feller who would measure any less then as she 

sed, 
So now a toothless maiden, of fifty summers flown, 
She hadn't any Nathan that she dared to call her 

own. 



88 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 

The otlier of the trio -she was rich, of great estate 
An' riclies— so slie tohl 'em— was a very temptin' 

bait 
Au' fellers who was hankerin' fer to git her heart 

an' han' 
Had still a bigger notion fer ter git to farm her 

Ian', 
So this suspicious maiden of the poor deceptive 

man. 
Is wrinkled an' bal'-headed— an' her Nathan is her 

Ian', 
Thus talked the three old maidens, as together sip- 
pin tea. 
As tellin' tales together of the things that uster be: 
But they didn't tell the secret of their failure of 

life 
To become a loviii' mother, or tender lovin' wife; 
Man doesn't wed for beauty, ner fer riches, ner is 

made 
For patterns for the angels— but a little lower 

grade. 



THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 

His office hours are the twenty-four— 
And the door bell rings as he crawls in 
bed. 

As hesink^ away in a dreamy snore, 
Or seats himself for liis daily bread; 



THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 89 

He peers without and the night it chills— 

The mud is up to his horse's side — 
He mounts his steed with his pack of pills, 

And sallies forth for a midnight ride. 
The goblins of night are in their glee, 

He rides a-past where the ghosts do 
dwell, 
He hears strange sounds from a haunted 
tree 

Where the hoot owl sits for its midnight 
yell; 
He reaches at last his patient's door — 

He walks within with a listless tread- 
He pulses his victim o'er and o'er 

And lays his palm on his frowseyhead; 
He looks as wise as an ancient Greek," 

Unfolding the bottles within his pack— 
Tis a case of colic of whicli we speak — 

And he doses his patient with ipecac; 
Then portioning parcels of powder out, 

He bows adieu— and is homeward bound, 
And he nods along in a misty doubt 

Of whether in bed or on the ground. 
A little one burned about the wrist— 

A stitch in the back of a rheumatiz; 
A sprain that was caused by an ankle 
twist, 

Are all inquiring "Where Doctor is?" 
And they live to the north and east and 
west, 

And many and many the miles apart 



90 THE FARMERS' INSTITOOT. 

And to give to himself a needed rest 

He makes the round in a springless cart; 
He's called to go if a baby cries- 
He portions out for the thumps in swine 
He mixes a nostrum to straighten eyes. 
And cures the clefts of the limping 
swine ; 
Then he gets his pay when the pumpkins 
ripe 
From the turnip field or buckwheat 
straw, 
For the bursted cabbage and mouldy 
tripe 
That is sandwiched in with a heap of 
jaw. 



A FARMERS* INSTITOOT. 

We hed a farmers' institoot 
In our deestrict in the hall, 

For the tellin' of our doin's one to tother. 
An 'bout the kinder work for doin' in 
the fall, 

Fur the savin' of a heap o' winter bother- 
When the winter gits rantankerous like 

As he does in Ximisliillin — 
Like as chinkin' up the shed, 

Moving the water trough to places under 
cover, 



THE FARMERS' INSTITOOT. ^1 

A makin' things handy like, where 
the cows is fed, 
Which was the fattenes' kin'— timothy 
or clover? 
Them things he was obsarvin'. 

They all agreed in settin' pes' 
The little en' goes down- 
That is if wantin' 'em for tolas' the longes' 
An' buy in' janes for panterloons, al'ays 
git the brown, 
'Cos them the wearin' kin' an' al'ays the 
stronges'— 
Gosh! them janes will hoi' an ox— 
An' they unanimously sed— 

In plantin' out a flel' 
Never ter plant onions an' taters by the 
t'other. 
'Cos if you do the onions makes the ta- 
ters squeal, 
Gittin' in their eye an" givin' lots o' bother 
That's what nachur onions is. 

The nex' was sed 'bout drainin' farms; 

Mos' sed they was a usin' tile 
Some sed the gofer plow it made a bun- 
kum drain, 
Snootin' up the yaller clay 'way below 
the sile, 
Al'ays makin' big crops-lots and heaps 
o' grain 
If the sile is rich aforehand; 



92 THE FARMERS' INSTITOOT. 

An' the head boss he called on me 

To give em an expression 
An' tole 'em who I were — 'bout my early 
traiuin', 
Sed it weren't elosin' time fer the 
evenin' session 
They'd hear from Nimishillin 'bout un- 
der-drainin' 
In a plain an' farmlike way. 

It warn't sarvin' me jes' right, 

But still I up and sed — 
There's other kin' o' drains that some o' 
you has got 
Thai's drainin' every fiel' inter the 
river bed 
That beats the gopher plow or tile upon 
your lot 
In the quickness of the drainin'; 
Some o' you's been usin' them 

In drains that you is usin', 
Usin' o' them drains, that'll drain you 
pretty soon. 
It's jes' a little glass, the kin' that you 
is choosin'. 
You al'ays fin, 'em plenty roun' in the 
saloon, 
An' they're a good drain for the farm- 



A HOLIDAY ROMANZA. 93 

A HOLIDAY ROMANZA. 

I calculated all the fall, well, sence 'fore seedin' time, 
That when I got my huskin' done, an' fodder sleddid in. 
An' pun'kins picked, an' tatters dug, an' dusted off with 

lime 
To go to Jeptha Morgan's store— he keeps one in Berlin — 
He's uncle to 'Lize Sanderson— an' E — I'm 'Lize's beau; 
I've bin a goin' off an' on with her for— let me see- 
It mus' be goin' on four years sence firs' she let me go, 
An' I have been her steady beau for mighty nigh to three. 
She's bin a kinder nudgin' me, an' wantin' me to tell 
Where Shreves' girls, an' Hobson's girls are gettin' all 

their things. 
An' redicules, an' fotographs, an' things she likes to 

smell, 
A.n' then hold up her great big ban's, what hadn't enny 

rings; 
An' ax me lots of funny things, like, "what I's goin' to 

see 
At C'rismus time, an' had I sol' my hogs, an' beef an' sich," 
An' likely hitch her cheer up close, as close as close could 

be. 
An' tell me name her apple seeds, an' tell her which was 

which. 

Well if a feller loves a girl, he wants to give a lift. 

An' so I went to Jeptha's store, an' tol' him who I were— 

Were 'Lize's beau— an' wanted for to see some C'rismus 

gif's. 
An' sposed he knew jes what to git to tickle girls like her, 
An' he kinder raised his specs, an' looked below at me, 



94 A HOLIDAY ROMANZA. 

An' pulled some stockin's off a string a runnin' overhead 
An' got some boxes marked on end "waist measure 53," 
An' 'lowed that "that was 'Kize's size from what his wife 

had sed." 
An' then he got some mittens down, and bottles marked 

"perfume," 
Jes 'zactly like them Hobson girls was lettin' 'Liza smell, 
An' jerked the cork to let me git a whiff of apple bloom, 
An' fryin' ham, an' new cut hay, an' lots I couldn't tell; 
He sed, "he liardly knew jes what I'd better do, 
But girls like Lize would 'predate a hood or facinator, 
Or ennything that's kinder nice an' kinder useful too. 
Like stockin's, or them w*)olen mits, or else a nutmeg 

gratir." 

I swore, I spent a half a day a lookiu' through that store, 
An' sizin' up the cost of things, an' what to git for Lize, 
An' walked the legs clean off of me, a walkin' on that 

floor. 
An' not a blamed thing could I find that seemed to fill my 

eyes. 
An' jes as I was givin' up an' startin' for the mare 
Who stood a restin' on her legs an' never once had stirred, 
I seed a skillet on the wall, or somethin' hangin' there, 
An' yelled to Jeptha, "How'U that do," an' pinted to the 

bird, 
An'Jeptha come an' took it down, I tol' hini I would buy 

it, 
An' tied it up, I give the price he sed that they was takin' 

An' when the old folks went to bed, an' everything was' 
quiet 



HOW THE WIMEN VOTED IN DEESTRICK NUMBER EIGHT. 95 

Aroun' the house, an' bout' the room, 'ceptin' me a shakin', 
i hauled my skillet out an' sez, sez I, sez I to Lizer: 
^'Tomorrow will be C'rismus day an' here's a little present 
I got for you a C'rismus gif an' kinder a surpriser," 
An' she jes stood an' grinned at me, an' looked mos' awful 

pleasant. 
An' then she come' an leaned her head jes where my 

heart was bumpin', 
An' I scrooched down an' leaned my lipad—l don't remem- 
ber whether 
I sed a word, but mus' hev sed a word, I guess or som'- 

thin', 
*Cos she jes leanin' closer sed— "Let's fry our meat togeth- 
er." 



HOW THE WIMEN VOTED IN DEESTRICK NUM- 
BER EIGHT. 

Rinktum, rinktum, rinktum, but we have had a happy 

day, 
Wimen did the votin' and they had it all their way; 
Standin' at the votin' place, an' lookin' cross the lot, 
You could see the wimen comin' with horses on the trot ; 
An' some had took to walkin' — you could hear 'em half a 

mile, 
A whoopin' an' a shoutin' an' a singin' all the while. 
Why even Aunt Jemima, who's four score years an' seven 
'Lowed votin' was another step that took her nearder 

heaven. 
She always favored wimen's rights an' thanked the Lord 

that He 



9<i HOW THE WIMEN VOTED IN DEESTRICK NUMBER EIGHT. 

Had put the ballot in their hands an' made salvation free. 
An' little Katie Atkinson— of forty summers flown— 
Who'd always been an invalid since she were nearly 

grown— 
Got off her bed of sickness and threw her crutches down 
An' fairly toddled on a run to vote for Sister Brown. 

Long 'fore the polls were open— the notice sed at four— 
The balloters in calicoes was staudin' round the door, 
The merits of tlie candidates an' liow to vote discussin'— 
It sounded like a lot of men, but more refined the 

cussin' — 
The single wimen sed they would never think upon it 
Of votin' for a married one an' let the husband run it! 
The married wimen argued ag'n' the maid elector, 
An' said that they would never vote for them as school 

director, 
Because they had no children, hence, 'twas just an impo- 
sition 
For them to come a spookin' round for votes in their 
condition. 

They wrangled, an' they jangled an' they tangled every 

one; 
The wliole lot got rantankerous before the vote begun. 
An' when the poll was open— a hat for ballot-box. 
Disciples of the Wesley's an' followers of Fox, 
Each wanted their persuasion -while those of worldly 

ways 
Sed politics an' 'ligion were mixin' nowadays. 
There was jostling an* a jeering in a rather doubtful 

mood, 



HE don't look FER SANTA. 97 

A pullin' an' a pushin' round in ways twere rough an 
rude, 

Till tempers touched the boilin' p'int, an' .smiles wer© 
all fermented — 

Each women voted for herself -and went away con- 
tented. 



HE DON'T LOOK FER SANTA. 

I's jes' a leetle nigger— 'bout ten yeah ole I spec. 

An I's bin a larnin' somethin' fer a spell — 
Pere weren't euny boy standin' on the burnin' deck. 

An' dey didn't shoot no apple off o' Tell; 
Dere were'nt enny Joner dat went inier the whale. 

Nor babies in de woods, it 'pears ter me, 
Dey's jes' a pack o' nuthin'— a lot o' idle tale — 

As de feller tuk a tub an' went ter sea. 
Dere were'nt enny feller went totin' o' de lamp 

In de middle o' the bright an' blazin' day — 
An' sed he were a huntin' for a feller in his tramp 

Dat wouldn't rob a bank an' git away. 
Dere were'nt enny Moses ter sot de people free 

From der army 'compass roun' on ebry han' 
By raisin' o' de sword an' de splittin' o' de sea, 

An' dribin' all de wattah to de Ian'. 
But I fear I's digressin' from de meter o' de tune— 

An' one dat I is pressin' fer ter make — 
Dat the pusson who b'lieves Ole Santa's comin' soon 

Am a makin' o' de feaifules' mistake- 
Cos I wants ter tell yer now, how der subjec' come er- 
bout. 



98 JIM KERR. 

'Twere a long er yeah ago at C'rie'mas night 
Dere were a leetle moon jes' kinder peepin out, 

An' I seed sumthin' walkin' in de light. 
De flgger looked as Daddy—liim brack an' woolly head— 

An' he mosied up ter mommy at der door, 
An' dese am de berry words I tink 1 heerd him sed— 

"De Lawd hab bin ar lendin' ter de pore." 
An' den frum der light dat were glintin' 'pon der face 

Froo der cliinkin' in de battin' berry small 
I sp;^d 'em put er sumthin' in der stockin' in der place 

Dat was hangin' fer Ole Santa 'pon de wall. 
Nex' mornin' berry early dey callin' me— "arise" — 

An' ter see where Ole Santa dun an' bin, 
0' course I were upsotted— an' berry much surprise' 

Cos I seed all tlie stuffin' goin' in; 
D(*n early in de mornin' dey 'rested Daddy dare 

Fer stealin'o' der stuffln' frum der store, 
An' lowed der Lawd were good-but it were'nt hardly 
square 

Fer ter call it a "lendin' ter de pore." 
So I wants ter tell yer now— der sermont an' de tex'— 

Like de 'postle Paul were preachin' in de jail— 
If yer wanter git ter heaben, in dis worl an' de nex', 

Don't calcerlate on b'levin' ebry tale. 



JIIVI KERR. 

Jim Kerr— great big hearted Jim- 
Sandy hair an' tall an' slim, 
Fun jes' peekin' outer him 



JIM KERR. 99 

Jes' the goodes' kinder Jim; 

Useter com' along the road 

Pas' our house to where he goed, 

Shearin' sheep, or buyin' sich — 

Didn't seem a keerin' which 

He were poor, or he were rich; — 

Didn't useter watch an' pray 

For his fun ter come some day — 

Took it right erlong the way— 
An' a feller would feel kinder peekid an' slim, 
With a jaded old steed an' be meetin' o' Jim, 
An' would hear Jim way off— jes' a yellin' a 

him — 

''Caw, Caze/"— like a crow, — 

Like an old carrion crow— 

An' Jim wantin' ter know— 

An' be snifin' his nose — 
^'How he got that .ole ban'-box away from the 

crows? 



Jim, he weren' much ter go 
Places that he didn't know — 
Meetin' places, or the show — 
Rather be a runnin' 'bout 
Like as school was lettin' out, 
Saltin' sheep or look ter see 
How the berry crop would be ; 
Spookin' roun' the bigges' trees 
Huntin' for the honey bees. 
Humph— I see that feller jes' 
Sweatin' through his coat an' ves' 



100 JIM KEKR. 

PuUin' sleds for Joe an' Bill, 
Belly pumpin' down the hill, 
Go an' mark the very spot 
Where the fardt st one had got— 
An' as likely as not, in the di)in' of that, 
A butcher, a leadin' a steer as was fat, 
Would be seein' of Jim— an' Jim wavin' hishat. 
An' yellin' ter him— 
An' Jim were a yeller 
To yell to a feller— 
An' ask — "Is he leadin' that thing for the 

leather 
As looks as two pumpkin seeds stickin' together 
An' a holdin' of fat of the mullein an' yarrow 
An' ribs lookin' like the wood work of a har- 
row." 

An' the likens o' that — 
An' still swingin' his hat 
Till the feller 'ed forgit jes' the town he were at. 

Jes' the goodes' kinder Jim, 
Everybody lovin' him 
Good as enny seraphim. 
Laff! Well as you could do, 
When he lafiEed— was offin too 
Till it neardly splitten you. 
Onct a feller got a whack- 
Had a bullgine hit his b ack 
Standin' on the railroad track , 
Nuthin' then 'ould do but Jini 
He must be a nussin' him; 



JIM KERR. 101 

An' the feller, he were rich, 

Lots o' lands, an' bonds, an' sich; 

Didn't seem ter keer erbout 

W'ich he had, or done without, 

Jes' so he was havin' Jim 

Roun' the house an'nussin' him; 
An' the feller he mended an' got on his pegs — 
By the usin* of crutches in place of his legs — 
An' he sed "that the doctors an' nasty ole dregs^ 

Wasn't nuthin' 'tall ter him 

Like the medicine of Jim 

Keepin' sperits to the top — 

Couldn't bear ter let 'em drop." 

Didn't ask his gold for pay 

Didn't want it enny way, 

Ruther live without an' be 

Partner with sweet charity. 

Ever see the likes of Jim ? 

Rich an' poor is one ter him; 

Useter effen hear him say — 

"Clouds '11 come an' pass away, 

Sunshine follow rain today." 

All'ays doin' what he could 

What was right an' what was good, 
Some day— they'll be callin' Jim— for to make 

a seraphim, 
He's the kind they takes above— jes' to make 

the angels of. 



102 WOMAN. 

WOMAN. 

Oh woman I she's a beauty an' I'm 

glad that ancient Adam 
Let 'em take a rib an' make her-an* 

I'm glad that Adam had 'em- 
An' am glad as he was a sleepin' in 

the garden in the quiet 
That an angel with a patent cum a- 

long an' made 'em buy it 
Of a form the most divines' an' a face 

the mostest winnin' 
An' they made a model like it of a 

woman for beginnin', 
An' I think as Adam wakened an' he 

saw the lovely creature 
That was fashioned like his dreamin' 

in her lovely form and feature 
That his feelin's overcome him, an* 

that then began the sinnin'. 
When he tried to kiss the woman 

who was his from the beginnin' 
But us fellers aint like Adam an' we 

have a heap of bother 
For to fin' the kinder woman like 

the one they made for father; 
They are fickle an' diceitf ul an' are 

cunniu' an' disguisin' 
An' can shake an' make a feller as a 

feller taken pisen, 
An' will leave him in his cryin' an* 

his sobbin' peroration, 



SONG OF THE GREEK PATRIOT. 

In the vortex of desparin' an' a brim- 
stone conflagration; 
An' I tliink as father Adam rises at 

the reserectin' 
From the million years reposin' for a 

careful retrospectin' 
An they ask the greatest blessin' of 

all blessin's he had had 'em- 
He will say, "its lovely AYomain." was 

the blssedest to \dam, , 
An' I guess with all their chahgin, 

since the the days of acient Adam, 
We are better off to have 'em as they 

are, than not to' had'em 



103 



SONG OF THE GREEK PATRIOT. 

Homer sing— sing of the heroes- 
Roll the stone from off their graves; 

Wake the sleepers on Olympus; 
Tell the galleys on the waves; 

Tell the holy Mount of Ida; 
Tell the sea at Marathon— 

That the Greeks have found Achilles 
In King George's noble son. ' 

Tell to Helen— beauteous Heleii— 

As the troops of Allah come— 
Tell her woo and win their Paris 
From the crescent, to her home. 



104 SONG OF THE GREEK PATRIOT. 

T ell her Greece has from the ashes 
Of her glorious lieroes slain, 
Rose to rush to deeds of battle 
With Miltiades again. 

Tell them of the fate of Xerxes, 

Of his empire, land and sea; 
Of Leonidas of Sparta, 

And of old Thermopolae. 
Tell them that King George has spoken 

Tft defiance to tlie powers. 
And that Ottomans must tremble 

At a worthy foe as ours. 

Hather than to brook dishonor. 

From the powers that bid him down. 
To the waters of Scamander 

He will hurl his worthless crown. 
Not by might is right triumphant 

In the struggle to be free; 
But by him who hushed the billows 

la the storms of urallilee. 

Theu perchance tlie brutal cravings 

Of the monarchs of the sea, 
Lusting for the sordid treasure 

Of the home of Liberty, 
JVlay relent, and lift the warcloud 

Off of Hum's sunny plain— 
If they will not, Greece is ready 

To do battle once again. 



NOMINATE A CITY MAN. 105 

NOMINATE A CITY MAN. 

The same old song is in the land— 

The same for a decade— 
The politician rubs his hand 

And says that "he's afraid 
We'll lose our Representative — 

Just do the best we can— 
Unless we all unite and give 

It to a city man." 

They say "The country is O. K. 

Its vote is always true. 
The city vote will float away" — 

They're always telling you, 
And so to keep the vote intact 

They have the same old plan— 
A plan that always works, in fact— 

Just name a city man. 

They say— "he'll hustle with the boys 

Around the mills and shops, 
And help the Devil make a noise 

Around the brewers' shops. 
He'll work the slums of Dutton row 

And every alley scan, 
And that's the only way, you know, 

We can elect our man." 

The country delegates will pass 

Among the dudes that are there, 
As ornamental as an ass 

Taken to a floral fair. 



106 GRANDMA. 

But then beneath his crumpled vest 
Your slights in burning scan 

The base ingratitude that's pressed 
Upon the country man. 

His sovereignty you claim your own 

A slave to your behest — 
He dare not tread upon the throne 

The office seeker pressed ; 
He has a mission— only one— 

And this, the more the pity 
It is to vote for men alone 

Who live within the city. 



GRANDMA. 

Grandma now is a woman of sixty, 
Pretty and sweet as a girl sixteen; 

Not grown old with her shoulders stoop- 
ing, 
Haggard looking, nor halting mien» 

Never says "don't" if I pull her apron, 
And only laughs if I salt her tea;" 

Plays "hop scotch" and Antony over, 
"Blind man's buff" and the like with 
me. 

Tells me tales, that she calls her stories 
Of old Blue Beard and the way he done. 



GRANDMA. 107 

With pretty babies- and how the robbins 
Found the food that they fed them on. 

Tells of the sea and the great blue ocean, 
Where grandpa sails in his ship today, 

A great warship, with forty cannon, 
Frowning down on her trackless way. 

He stood on the bridge— a bold sea cap- 
tain- 
As the Spanish fleet rode out the bay, 
A hundred cannon thundering round him, 
Where grandpa's ship - the Brooklyn- 
lay. 

And grandma says her little grandson 
May walk the deck of a ship some day, 

As grandpa walks the great ship Brooklyn 
Sailing seas in a trackless way. 

Then sings the songs that are sung by 
sailors. 

Of the deep, deep sea, and ocean blue, 
And mellows down to heavenly touches 

Of lullabys, that sweetly woo. 

And I found myself in arms enfolded. 
To rise and fall as the waves at sea; 

I enter port and safely anchor 
In "sweet repose," on grandma's knee. 

And there I dream of the sails that flutter. 
Of flags that float from the tallest mast. 



108 THE PENSIONER. 

Till stars o'er head go under cover. 
And night has rolled her curtain past. 

I wake to the songs of the thrush and 
robin; 

On her knees I hear good grandma pray 
That God will keep her little grandson 

And grandpa on his ship today— 

That winds be fair and the skies onlook- 
ing, 

Blue as the waters that waveless sleep 
In liollow of the hand that's keeping 

His own on shore and wonderous deep. 

And I somehow rise witli good assurance 
That all will be well with me today, 

And somehow know that grandma pray- 
ing 
Brushed the clouds of a storm away. 



THE PENSIONER. 

This is the story! Her widowhood 
Goes back to May in sixty-three, 
When face to face like walls there stood — 

Hooker and Lee 

At Chancellorville— 
"Stonewall" Jackson was charging our 

right, 



THE PENSIONER. 109 

Charge on charge in that wavering 
fight- 
That is the date of her widowhood. 

Never a Thais, nor Helen more fair, 

'Till click hy click was flashed afar, 
Terrible tidings through the air, 

From seat of war 

At Chancellorville, 
Tidings of death 'till a nation wept, 
Over the field where her heroes slept, 

After the fight at Chancellorville. 

Death as a pall was over the land, 

And widowed homes were thickly set 
From hilltops to the rivers strand, 
A Nation's debt 
Of Chancellorville, 
Homes where the angel of death had 
been 
Silently gathering the harvest in, 

Harvest of death at Chancellorville . 

Ten years, the needle deftly vied 

To keep the gaunted wolf at bay; 
No suitor ever had applied 

To help her drive the wolf away; 
They never even gave a glance 

To make her think they thought of her 
Although she often met by chance 

The bachelor and widower. 



110 THE PENSIONER. 

Tenth of December, Seventy-four, 

From Washington a letter came, 
A pension office stamp it bore, 

And granted to her, in her name. 
Ten hundred dollars, pension pay, 

"And every month eight more" it said. 
This she could draw each "quarterday," 

So long as she was widowed. 

Her home was then an Ithica, 

And slie was as Penelope 
When brave Ulyssus was away, 

A castaway upon the sea. 
The bachelor and widower. 

Oh! how they now did pity her. 
Their hearts had often bled for her. 

Their tears, they often shed for her. 
And for her hand were suing her 

So timidly and fearfully. 
Yet, prayerfully and tearfully. 

Each pressed his suit distressingly 
Yet, pressed it most caressingly. 

In balances their worth to her 

She weighed the bach and widower. 
And found of equal worth they weighed 

As up and down the balance played; 
There in one scale pan, both were placed 

The other one her pension graced,— 
The suitors out of vision flew - 

The pension— had out-weighed the two. 



A SUMMER NOON TIME ON THE FARM AT DAMASCUS. Ill 

Then thus her language to them ran: 

"My country is my guardian, 
She stooped to bless my widowhood, 

She ministered to solitude. 
And, like an angel, unaware. 

Came lightly down to wing my care 
In answer to a widow's prayer. 

No: never ask my heart again 
'Tis buried with a hero slain 

At Chancellorville." 



A SUMMER NOON TIME ON THE FARM 

AT DAMASCUS. 

Under the willow's cool retreat. 

The laughing water at my feet, 

I sit and watch the minnows play, 

Lazily dream the hour away. 

It is wash day, too, for the tribes of air — 

The first in song of the world are there — 

They come in the dress that fits them best, 

In the sombre grey or crimson drest, 

And hopping along from stone to brush 

The cat bird calls to the mocking thrush 

To come to the bending, languid stream, 

Where the sun peeps through with broken beam, 

Where the tinkling waters sift their spray 

And play hop scotch on the pebbled way, 

And the swaying bough of the willow nod 



112 A SUMMER NOON TIME ON THE FARM AT DAMASCUS. 

To the blushing cheek of the golden rod; 

And there they lave in the crystal rill, 

And wash and rinse with their tiny bill, 

And plume their wings of the brown and gray 

In gay attire for a holiday, 

And gaily twit of the bush or tree 

Where they held an old-time revelry. 

The blue bird comes and the sparrow, too — 

The taunting Jay with his tangled blue; 

The golden wren and the chicadee. 

And the titmouse with the words peewee ; 

They have no priest with a written screed 

No rights of church with a formal creed 

But the whole wide world to them is free, 

And they lord the air of land and sea. 

Below in a rifted drift of sedge— 
That makes a fringe to the water's edge — 
With naught above but the vaulting blue, 
Where oun and the moon and the stars look 

through, 
A glittering black snake slowly glides, 
And his slimy coils he deftly hides: 
He just returned from the robbers's quest. 
From raiding fields for the sparrow's nest. 
And lies half hid from the glare of day 
With his magic charm to woo his prey; 
On the scolding wren his charm has fell, 
And his subtle skill has served him well.. 
And his glaring eyes gaze on the prize 
With useless wings as it tries to rise. 
The rest of the matin songsters flown 



A SUMMER NOON TIME ON THE FARM AT DAMASCUS. 113 

The wren hops down on the stepping stone 
That lies at the edge of the rifted sedge 
Where the cruel serpent lords the ledge, 
And woos by his charms of hidden power 
To doom of death in the fated hour, 
As it faintly chirps and tries to sing 
At the slimy touch of the deadly thing. 
A lonely mate by the barn yard gate 
Will sing tonight till the hours are late 
With chorus songs of the Katy-did 
In boughs above where a nest is hid, 
And mournful call from the apple grot 
To the bird love gone - returning not. 

Above in the trees the droning bees 

Are tossed about by the summer breeze, 

Which stole the breath of the dewey morn 

From the silken plumes of nodding corn 

To fan the kisses upon my cheek — 

With my scanty locks play hide and seek— 

And brushing cares of the world aside 

I enter a land where dreams abide; 

And birds may come, and the blacksnake go, 

And the perfumed breezes o'er me blow; 

Little I reck and little I care 

For the vile of earth or the songs of air; 

They cannot enter to mar the spell 

0!the blissful land where dreamers dwell. 



116 PA, an' ma, an' uncle lew, 

Jes' out behin' the garden gate 
An' huntin' worms to use for bait; 
An' 'fore the sun gits high an' hot 
You'll see us scootin' cross the lot 
An' up the creek, to Shilling's dam. 
With hook an' line an' bread an' ham. 
An' there we'll fish an' fish till night. 
An' likely never git a bite; 
But then pa sez it is the way 
To spend our Decoration Day. 

Pa has a brother — Uncle Lew 

He don't want to fishing go; 

Always held a different view 

He says the fight the Yankees fit 

Along in sixty-two or three. 

Was jest to make the best of it, 

A fight to set the niggers free; 

An' when he gits to thinkin' that, 

He gits so awful full of spunk 

Jes' 'cause he is a Dimmycrat 

He spends the day in gittin' drunk. 

He sez if he could have his way 

There'd be no Decoratin' day; 

An' all these pensions that they give 

To Yankee soldiers while they live, 

He'd send down to the southern braves 

An' help to pay them for their slaves; 

An' 80 to drive such thoughts away. 

He's drunk on Decoratin' day; 

An' wlien the war was fit they say 

They fished and drank in Canada. 



PA, AN' MA, AN' UNCLE LEW. 117 

But ma— she alius looks so blue. 
As if her thoughts had gone away 
Back to the days of sixty-two — 
She offen tells about the day— 
When grandpa, dressed in soldier blue — 
It made them feel so awful sad- 
Come in an' tole the folks adieu. 
An' ma the only chile he had— 
He took her up— he couldn't speak. 
An' tears a running down his cheek: 
An' then he went an' jined the war. 
To help in what the war was for. 
Ma used ter watch, an' watch an' pray 
That grandpa would come back some day; 
An' so he did— one moonless night, 
Jes' after Chattanooga's fight— 
A rough ole coffin for a bed, 
Ole Glory underneath his head— 
They brought home grandpa, to her, dead. 
He's restin' now from out the war 
Behin' that little clump of trees, 
Jes' where them climbin' roses are 
A rockin' in the mornin' breeze; 
An' ev'ry Decoratin' day 
Ma, somehow, kinder steals away. 
An' takes some flags an' sweet bokays 
An' puts them there where grandpa lays. 



120 STAY WHERE YOU ARE OLD MAN. 

And telling boys sti ek to the farm and 

how the farming pays 
And kind of mnsliroom dudes who live in 

cities in a flat 
And git their bean soup twice a day for 

writing stuff like that 
And never followed up a mule in fly time 

working corn 
Nor had a stomich all oUap^.el before 

the dimier horn 
Nor never run a cutting liay afoul of bum- 
ble bees 
That made him thresh himself till blue 

with sprouts of elder trees 
Or ever went to town with loads of pump- 
kins or of hay 
And sold them to the fellow who would 

stand him off for pay 
Nor work for sixteen hour a day and then 

come home at niglit 
And had to hunt a dozzen cows to milk 

by caudle light 
Or plow a clearing full of stumps with 

nigger heads between 
That shook his liver tother side and mixed 

it with Iiis sj)!(»en 
Oh no dear Tiu'le (lo not leave your shop 

in Buffalo 
Get off the rural nightmare now and let 

the critter go 
For if you ride her very long you'll prove 

yourself a fool 
Just like a city cliaj) I know who shook 

hands with a mule. 



A PICTURE FROM A PICTURE. 121 

A PICTURE FROM A PICTURE. 

I saw a picture a painter made 

Of a nodding field of golden grain, 
Where a passing cloud had thrown its 
shade, 

And it rent the field of gold in twain; 
A reaper was reaping 'round the field , 

A maiden gathered the sheaves to 
stook. 
And laughed at the harvest's heavy yield 

In the hillside lot beyond the brook. 

A tiny offspring which had slept 

Under a spreading oak's domain, 
Roused from its slumbers, gently crept 

Into the fringe of waving grain. 
And braiding the bearded plumes at play, 

Laughed at the reaper drawing near. 
Not knowing, it sat along the way 

The keen- edged sickle soon would clear. 

Ah well, thought I, the painter's thought 

Arrested the tragic scene to be, 
And into my world of fancy wrought 

The synonym of the child and me. 
I sit on the edge of life today. 

The reaper, Death, he is on his round; 
I sit a child in the wheat at play— 

The sickle will surely cut me down. 



124 A ''hayseed's" lament. 

Perhance your wisdom is great as mine, 
And you'll coax the summer's sun to shine, 

And use for your wraps as the rude wind flaps, 
The tangled grasses that round you twine. 

But you add to life another cheer 
As you link your life with the early year 

And lifting your head from your snowy bed. 
You blend the bright with the brown and sear. 

No ruthless foe shall over you tread 
To mangle and bruise your tender head, 

Till blossoms fair in tlie morning air 
Their sweetest odors around me spread. 



A ''HAYSEED^S^' LAMENT. 

There ain't much fun of a hot May morning, 
To slioulder the hoe and march down the lane, 

To fields where mullein has spread its awning^ 
To shield from the sun the sickly grain. 

And war with the rag weed, thickly settled, 
And the burdock roots in the yellow clay, 

And nettle spines that are newly whetted. 
That toss tlieir heads wliere the corn-rows lay. 

I hoe and think, and think as I'm hoeing 
In the radiant shine of the king of day 

In sound (►f the wind tlirough maples blowing 
And piping notes of the thrush's lay— 



FOES. 125 

That it's scarcely fair for the great Creator 
To burden us all with the first man's sin 

And let us live— only— because we labor 
And sweat our brows, for the grain we win. 



FOES. 



There are foes who as foes with honor contending 
Strike boldly defects with a consummate skill, 

Who baflfle my faith in the faith I'm defending 
Convincing of error despiting my will. 

And foes who are foes— and their name it is legion- 
Arrayed in the garb of a friend who is true. 

Akin to the Dives of the lowermost region- 
Akin to the Shylock, the arrogant Jew. 

They come as a friend and devotion professing, 
The sting of the asp they adroitly conceal. 

To strike a death blow in disguise as a blessing 
Inflicting a wound that no friendship can heal. 

Oh, foes, who unchained, prey on my ambition I 
Oh foes as intruders, impeding my path! 

In the cloak of a friend— go back to perdition 
Companions for saints in the regions of wrath. 

Oh foes who in tremulous voices upbraid me ! 

Oh foes who would blast all the glory of men! 
Oh foes whose dark counsel has often dismayed me- 

Go back to the powers of the darkness again. 



128 THE TWO RAIN-MAKERS. 

In hopes that her boys coiihl make enough noise 

To float up to the rain-god's ears, 
And he rise in his wrath— soar over their path, 

And deluge the earth with tears. 

So with cannons a score proceeded the roar 

On an alkali, Texan plain, 
And the earth it did quake -the heavens did shake 

As they loudly called for the rain. 
While the gay antelopes skipped over the slopes 

To the marshes nearer the sea, 
And the cinnamon bears came out of their lairs 

From the trunks of the hollow tree. 

The tarantulas died, the scorpions cried, 

And the sage hen forsook her nest, 
While the lizards of slime crawled out of their clime,. 

And the chipmonk went to his rest; 
And the bat of the night came out to the light. 

The beetle arose from his bed. 
And the doodle-bug sang with a nasal twang. 

Far over the grasshopper's head. 

And the squaw and papoose thought the devil was loose 

And from hades had brought up his gun. 
So they sang o'er the graves of their buried braves. 

As they danced the dance of the sun; 
While the brave on the watch— he played hop scotch 

As he sprinkled his war paint on; 
And he grinned at the smoke where the cannons spoke 

For a moment, and then was gone. 



LONGIN'. 129 

But tlie cannon would roar and the smoke wreath soar 

In a cone-like spiral form, 
To the home of the dew that the stars peep through, 

'^v'ay up to the home of the storm. 
Yes, the cannons would roar and the smoke clouds seal* 

'Way up through the blue domain, 
And the plain so accurst lay still in its thirst, 

For never a drop did it rain. 



LONGIN'. 

I hab 'lations down in Geo'ga, 'at I lef afore the wah, 
Dey is common culled pussons, an' I don't know where 

dey are. 
But I's boun' ter go an' fin' 'em if 'dey's libin' dere today, 
An' dey mus' lib where dey uster, if dey habent move 

away. 

When I lef it were in harvis', all de crops were doin* 

fine, 
An' de little striped millon jes' a peepin' on de vine, 
An' de cotton were a bloomin' an' de peach a turnin' red, 
When I lef 'em in ole Geo'ga, an' de las' good bye were 

said. 

Now, I ofifen gits to weepin', an' I gits de watah mouf, 
At a seein' o' de millons dey am toatin from de Souf. 
An' de same ole heabenly millons, wid de red an' juicy 

core, 
Dat I uster lif in Dixie, in de davs afore de wah. 



130 DE PLANTIN' OB DE POLE. 

An' it offoii gits me thinkin' how I lister lub ter tread, 

'Moug (le wattah-niilloii medders when de curl were git- 
tin' dead. 

An' ter fin' de berry bigges', an' ter liear him answer 
"plunk," 

An I tliump Iiim for de cabin, as I got the bigges' chunk. 

Oi)I tliem days is aggravatin' fer dis darkie ter persue, 
Wiien ole Marsa ruld de cabin as de Moses rule de Jews, 
An' dere were no dissapintin' in de work or gittin' pay, 
BJiitde pone an'sorgum 'lasses kep' a comin' ebry day. 

I 'spec' it will be s'prisin' as dey see me drappin in, 
But I wan' ter go ter Geo'ga, an' ter die where I begin, 
Au' go up ter ole Massa's, ter de berry backest door 
An' say— "dis am de prodigal you loss' 'fore de wah." 



DE PLANTING OB DE POLE. 

In makin' (►b de universe, an' putin' in de pole 
'Pon which to do de turnin' -wlien de turnin' were begun— 
Ole Ham he tuk the gimblet an' he went to bore de hole 
Where it wouldn't git to warpin' by a standin' in de sun. 

He tole de little Ham folks— dat was standin' roun' de door- 
"Jes' let me kotch you spookin' roiin*^, an' let de possum burn, 
Er gazin' where Ise goiii' as yous doin herebefore, 
An' wanter do de greazin' as de ting begin to turn." 

So he went an' went de fardes', till liis knees begin ter 
flop. 



DE PLANTIN' OB DE POLE. 131 

Wid (ie totin' ob de pole fer to do de turnin' on, 

An' he said he were a gwian, till he fin' a place to stop 

Where de sun forgit de shinin' an' de moon hab neber gon© 

He mus' hab circumlated till he fin' de place to bore, 
An' git de pole an gudgeon approvin' in de case, 
For de worl' begin a turnin'— but he didn't come no more, 
Cos he hab to stay obsarvin' an' keep him in de place. 

But de'chil'ren growin' bigger, an' de daddy didn't come, 
Dey went to see de cousins, dat had lib wid Uncle Shem, 
An' dey lub de lubly faces, an' de 'toxicatin' rum. 
So dey goed inter de par'nership an' married all ob dem. 

An' eber sence de mawnin', an' de nights am bitin' col*, 
Dey offen see de Norf lights a flashin' in de sky, 
'Bove de fires dat daddy Ham built, a watchin' ob de pole. 
Or mebby fer de washin' he were hangin' up ter dry! 

Dey ofEen wanter see him but are kinder feared ter go 
Jes cos afeard of mebby he hab got anuder frow. 
Dat he git in tradin' lubers to de woolly Eskimo, 
Fer ter help ter do de washin' an' de milkin' ob de cow. 

But glory! hallelujahs! fer blevin' on de sun. 
An' all de mighty miracles an' doin's as ob ole 
De worl he started turnin' hab naber cease ter run. 
An' daddy Ham's a sittin' yet a watchin' ob de pole. 

An' why? Cos Massa Nansen hab a bin up dare to see. 
An'heheerdde pole a squeechin' as de worl were goin' 

round 
An' ole daddy Ham were dare, an' tol' him. "let it be" — 
Or else he took de whole t'ing an' pull it from de groun'. 



132 THE OLD FOLKS' LITERARY. 

THE OLD FOLKS* LITERARY. 

The old folks had society— a literary showing— 

The great big meeting house was full almost to overflow- 
ing— 

And ranged upon the forum there in crescent shape the 
row, 

Were lads'and lassies of the days of forty years ago: 

The tallow dips as astrals shone, as in the days of ohlen. 

Before the silver threads had come to interlace the golden. 

And underneath the mellow lights of tapers dimly burn- 
ing 

Were spinning wheels, those withered hands in maiden- 
hood were turning, 

They camly rested on the chairs, a hundred years and 
over 

Had served apprenticeship as such for mother and her 
lover, 

And all the drapery was as, they liad in long ago. 

When ma was but a blooming lass and pa her bashful 
beau 

The first to speak was grandsire French, three score and 
ten and three 

Who followed hymnals by the 'Squire of greater years 
than he ; 

Whose voice although of broken chords or tightly laced 
in tune 

Was sweet because the song of life late in its afternoon. 

And mothers Crum and Armitage, Quinn, Powell and 
Bashaw, 

Expounded on the varied themes of morals or of law 

And fathers Hobson, Jones, and Pim with glib unfalter- 
ing tongue 



THE OLD FOLKS' LITERARY. 133 

Re-kindled fires of life again which -burned when they 

w^ere young; 
Their auditors were not the same they had in other days, 
But cliildren and grandchildren now with flushing faces 

gaze; 
And sister Phillip's Lydian strains— one of the tuneful 

nine — 
Whose solo seemed to have a touch both human and 

divine— 
To send a quiet hush to brood yet set the soul aglow 
In singing songs slie used to sing of forty years ago. 
Xor sister Rice can w^e forget, the veteran in the van 
Whose melody in ballad song in mournful measure ran. 
The snows of seventy winters, they, have sifted o'er her 

head 
But the muse that sets her singing from her soul has 

never fled. 
Oh, we love to wander backward to the days that use to be 
When life was but a phantom with no shade for you and 

me ; 
When the sun was always gleaming and we had no 

bridge of sighs, 
When we had no care or crosses and we had no weeping 

eyes, 
Yes, we love to live it over as we did again tonight 
With the half unbroken darkness stealing into candle- 
light; 
As within the old log school house frescoed with the frost 

and snow 
We held our literaries in the days of long ago. 
When the clicking of the shuttle in the alternating loom 



134 TO BILL NYE. 

Was the music most enchanting in our cosy sitting room^ 
When beside us sat our mother and a father's cherry 

face— 
They have gone across the river and we're sitting in their 

place. 



TO BILL NYE. 

Gone— is the soul of mirth; 

Dead— the grief slayer ; 
Gone to his mother earth, 

Dead to her care; 
Oft had I met him where — 
Walked through the valley there 
Giant and grim despair, 

Sorrow and care ; 
Bidding them all depart, 
Lifting a drooping heart. 
Staying the tears to start, 

He— the grief slayer. 

Dead I And the mourners now 
Tolling the death knell 

Crowning his laureled brow 

With their immortelles; 

How we have loved him well 
No fitting words can tell, 
No strain of music swell. 
Chiming with bell; 
Weeping are hearts of grief — 
Mourning the fallen chief 
Stolen by Death, the thief- 
Tolling his death knell. 



THE MORTCxAGE FIEND. 135 

THE MORTGAGE FIEND. 

"It's mighty unhandy, wife," said he, 

"It's mighty unhandy, I find, 
A mortgage fiend to be prodding me. 

For always lagging behind. 
He does not sleep but he comes in dreams, 

And he jades my needful rest, 
He plies his lash till the morning gleams 

Have kissed their kin of tlie west. 

"He laughs when the fattening swine are 
sold 

And the cattle from off the hill. 
As the lambs are taken from out of the 
fold. 

And the grain to the distant mill; 
He yokes to the plow that stirs the soil 

For the harvest of golden grain, 
The brawny Titians of honest toil, 

As he fetters their life in chains. 

"He eateth his way to the souls of men 

Till he preys as the poisoned asp; 
The cry of despair he need not, when 

He has clutched with his deadly grasp. 
Then he cracks his whip in proud dis- 
dain, 

To the pooT and needy's cry, 
And laughs at the heart-string's broken 
pain, 

Where his wounded and dying lie. 



136 A MOURNFUL BALLAD. 

"No tribute ever a Satrap laid 

On the boiidsineii witliin liis toils, 
More hard to bear than this fiend has 
made 

In his greed for the fruit of spoils; 
He sits enthroned with a smile so bland, 

Where his millions of victims cry. 
In the heartless, soulless, demon land, 

Where the fondest of hopes will lie." 



A MOURNFUL BALLAD. 



How a Lincoln Avenue Suitor Was Rejec- 
ted. 

The month was May, before the sun 
Had climbed the highest horizon. 
While yet the apples' clustering bloom 
Lent to the air a rich perfume 
Or gave a mellow tint to grace 

The heaving breast that heaved a sigh 
Of her who wore an anxious face 

To hear a lover's footstep nigh. 
The place was Lincoln avenue. 
The time, the falling of the dew, 
A youth and maid togetlier strayed 
To take an evening promenade: 
The moon had waned and dropped to rest 

Behind a lowering massive cloud 
That hung across the distant west 

A spectre, like a dripping shroud: 



A MOURNFUL BALLAD. 337 

And ever and anon there came, 
The forked tongue of lurid flame 
To cleave the air, and they could feel 
The trembling of the distant peel 
€ome on apace, as if intent 

To drive the lovers from the street 
To shelter from the element 

That soon was pattering at their feet. 
They talked of worlds beyond the skies, 
Of sainted ones in paradise, 
And wondered if those sainted dead 
Could stoop to hear what lovers said, 
Or whether life's unfolded dream 

Had always worn a rosy caste, 
Until they crossed the narrow stream 

That holds the present from the past; 
They wondered whether lover's bowers 

Were myths, or were they really true, 
The dream-land of the summer flowers, 

Or real life with golden hue; 
They talked of marriage vow^s that fail, 

Of blasted hopes so widely spread. 
And thought they told a woeful tale 

Of shipwreck to the hasty wed, 
A vivid flash compelled retreat. 
Or seek some shelter from the street; 
Within a vestibule they fled. 
Made timid by the wrath o'erhead, 
And there to songs .Eolus sang 
While peals of thunder o'er them rang 
The lover to the timid maid 



138 THE GREETING OF BOREAS. 

Began his suit, and thus essayed: 
''This life wouhl be a drear eclipse 

With all its promised pleasures flown 
Could I not press these nectared lips 

And some day claim them as my own; 
Our courtship is a blissful state, 

A prelude to the better way, 
True lovers can't afford to wait, 

So dearest name our wedding day;" 
Forgotten was the storm above, 

The lightning's flash, the thunder's 
roar, 
For on the sea of perfect love 

All else is wrecked along the shore. 
Upon his throbbing breast her head 

She leaned to name the wedding day, 
And answered, "dearest we will wed 

When cars run on our street railway,'* 

He lived to see the ties go down ; 

The iron rails upon them lain. 
But ere the cars come into town, 

The long suspense had crazed his 
brain. 



THE GREETING OF BOREAS. 

I come at last with regal blast 

From off the frozen main; 
Ye called me long, I heard your song; 

I'm with you once again. 



THE GBEETING OF BOREAS. 139 

Ye cursed the mild and lamb-like child 

Whom godlike [Jller sent 
To your domain, to rule and reign 

With Fey'a accompaniment. 
Ye want instead, the hoary head, 

Of Boreas from the north, 
With biting breath, and stalking Death 

Together to go forth ; 
Ye want the ray to fall mid-day 

Upon unyielding snow. 
And frosted lips and finger-tips 

Attend you as you go; 
Ye want the hills and wooded dells 

Depleted of their kine; 
To strike in wrath a trackless path 

To ranches and the mine ; 
Ye want to see how poverty 

Will feel my stunning blow; 
How hunger's cinch will deftly pinch 

The pallid cheeks of woe; 
Ye want to hear on midnight air 

Of victims of my breath; 
Of ships at sea blown helplessly 

Whose hulks are filled with death; 
Ye want— nay more — yon cabin door, 

Where widow's tears are sown — 
Me to unbar, that you may hear 

The music of her mourn. 
And so I come — from out my home — 

Snow-crowned, with whip and spur. 
With icy thongs, and jeering songs, 

And wind and clouds astir. 



140 A LE(IEND. 

A LEGEND. 

They tell of a beautiful legend— 

Of the long ago, I trow, 
When the wigwam fringed the river 

Where cities are builded now; 
When the purple of late October 

Had reddened the morning glow 
And the sycamore balls had fallen 

To freighten the stream below. 

The hunting moon, it was waning, 

And the new dropped leaves at rest 
Had strewn the trail of the forest 

The red man's feet had prest; 
And many the braves were missing 

From out of Manala's men, 
From the wigwam's of the Mahoning- 

'Twas a nameless river then. 

And Winnie, the squaw of Manala— 

Was feigning a false excuse 
To leave the tribe of her father— 

Along with her young pappoose - 
And go where a longing pale face 

Had come to her in a dream. 
As wanting her fond embraces, 

'Way up at the head of the stream. 

Oft had she rowed on the river, 
And oft on an oarless craft 

She had drifted adown the valley 
Where the rippling waters laughed; 



A LEGEND. 141 

And oft had she prayed the spirit 

To come to her aid and say— 
"The vigils of old Manala 

Are broken and gone away." 

And oft had she prayed the Forest 

And the sun god of the air, 
To seek the birth of the water 

Her pale face love to share. 
One morn at the early dawning, 

In bark with a muffled oar, 
She left the tribe of her father 

Alas! to return no more. 

The cloudlets had gathered in weeping— 

The river was raging wide— 
When old Manala awakened 

To find he had lost his bride; 
So he cried to his braves in anger— 

"Go bring to your chief a steed 
Who is fleet of foot to follow 

Wherever her footsteps lead." 

They followed her steps to the river— 

That raged as a widening tide, 
They started him over its billows 

To search for the missing bride; 
When a swaying sycamore hit him. 

And lol Manala was dead, 
And silently sank forever 

To sleep in a turbid bed. 



142 A LEGEND. 

Under the river Manala, 

A part of the osseous stones, 
And over him novs^ as olden 

The sycamore stoops and moans, 
And under its ceasless moaning 

The waters they sough and sigh, 
As going again to the ocean, 

In an endless passing by. 

And Winnie— tlie faithless Winnie — 

In search of tlie river's birth, 
Has gone to the uttermost regions 

Of cloudlands of the earth 
Condemned with the clouds in weeping 

To gather the ocean spray. 
And fashion it into the water 

The Mahoning bears away. 

And the pale-face lords the mansion 

Where the wigwam once had stood, 
And the apple and peach are fruiting 

In place of the poplar wood, 
And the waters still are sighing, 

And her faithless tears as rain, 
'They fashion the old Mahoning, 

As they go and come again. 



APIA. 143 

APIA. 

On April 15th, 1889, the German and United 
States war vessels were in the harbor of Apia 
on the coast of Samoa watching each others' 
movements when a storm came upon them and 
utterly destroyed the fleet. The following lines, 
were suggested by the occurrence: 

Where is the fleet of the Fatherland 
That plowed the main to the coral strand 
And rode in the pomp of dress parade 
To the reef -locked calm the corals made? 

And where are the steeds in war attire 
With their brazen guns with throats of flre 
That rang on the cliffs of the islets steep 
Or sullen died on the waste of deep? 

Oh where are the seamen young and fair 
Who nightly sang on the moonlight air 
'Till rocked to sleep by the ebbing tide 
Or in dreams of home their sweet song died? 

Oh where are the seamen young and brave 
Who walked the deck with the lashing wave 
Anumb to fear the dread typhoon 
Or the warning mist of the waning moon? 

They are gone. No more at the set of sun 
Is heard the blast of the sun-set gun, 
No more at anchor the war steeds rest 
In the lazy shade of the mountain's crest. 



144 I LOVE THE WORLD. 

A storm-wind came to the gates unclosed 

Where in sleepy shadows they reposed; 

On stilly waters his breath was blown, 

And the waves leaped high to claim their own. 

And ships and seamen alike were lost, 
In the angered spray above them tossed 
Till in the depths of the rolling deep 
The ships and seamen together sleep. 



I LOVE THE WORLD. 

Life is a poem— it is to me— 

And its measures are ever sweet 
With the winds of the land or the waves of the 
sea, 

Or the shore-line where they meet ; 
Wherever it be, or ever I stray, 
I love the world as it is today, 

The great long rows of the bristling pines, 
Which are set as bounds to the sea. 

And the rocks which are hid in the depths of 
the mines. 
Are more than their gold to me; 

And the ribs and pillars staying them, 

Are more to me than the opal gem. 

The cloud I love, which is tossing above, 
As black as the folds of niglit. 

And the lightnings, which gash in their flight, 
I love. 



I LOVE THE WORLD. 145. 

That leap from their dizzy height; 
No touch of the brush in the painter's hand 
Was ever made that is half so grand. 

I pity the one whose heart is cold, 

And whose soul is forever sad ; 
Who lives for the love and the lusting for gold, 

With never a thought of glad; 
Whose life is a slave with its pleasures sold 
For the glittering tinge of sordid gold. 

I pity the one wlio lives for the life 

Which is hidden away from this, 
And who always is warring the world in a 
strife, 

And all of its pleasures miss; 
Who scowls at the age we are living in, 
As day of days of the darkest sin. 

The world is good, and the world is gay. 

And its pleasures are sweet to me; 
And wherever I go, or wherever I stay — 

On the land, or on the sea— 
I will sing as the birds forever free, 
The world is good, and was made for me. 

And the storms may come, and the winds may 

blow, 

And my little bark may be tossed — 

I have faith in the world which I love, and I 
know 
My bark will never be lost ; 
But sailing along on the surging tide, 
Will safely land on the other side. 



146 DEATH OF AN OLD CITIZEN. 



DEATH OF AN OLD CITIZEN. 

Died on tlie morning of the 25tli ult., at liis 
residence in Damascus, Pleasant T. Stanley, in 
the r)5th year of his age. He had been for sev- 
eral years severely afflicted with cancer. The 
deceased w^as one of our oldest residents, having 
been born and lived continuously within two 
miles of this place, an esteemed citizen, gener- 
ous to every beneficial enterprise, a kind father 
and a consistent member of the Society of 
Friends. To his memory we respectfully in- 
scribe tiie following lines: 

Thyhody to earth, dear father, consigned, 
And the tears that are shed, the last tribute 
shall pay 

The form that enclosed thy spirit, resigned, 
So dear to our memory from life's early day. 

Though affliction so sore has long been thy lot, 
And life with its pleasures, a dream of the 
past, 
Yet thy patience in suffering shall ne'er be for- 
got, 
Nor thy briglit speaking eye, that remained to 
the last. 

How often shall memory cluster again. 
The fond recollections, of our earlier years, 

Its joys, ever green, we shall gladly retain. 
But its sorrows we'll veil with our unbidden 
tears. 



VALLEY OF THE CONEMAUGH. 147 

Thy faith, what a comfort in life's trying hour. 
That it bridged the dark river, when death 
was in view. 

And a trust that relied on Omnipotent power, 
In the valley and shadow, to pilot him through. 

Farewell to the form, thy spirit's ascended. 
The morning of life has dawned, with its 
bliss. 

That day hath begun that never is ended. 
That life the reward, for well serving in this. 



VALLEY OF THE CONEMAUGH. 

Oh, but the water looked grand in its coming I 
Rising like mountains, higher and higher. 

Seething and surging along the strange valley* 
Rushing and pushing and leaping like fire. 

Rolling and thundering the echoing waters 
Ran o'er the meadows and climbed up the 
hills. 

Trampled the forests beneath its mad lashings, 
Turned into rivers the awe-stricken rills. 

Fifty feet high, like a wall was its coming. 
Fiend-like invader in search of some ^rey, 

Laughing in dreams at the death-harvest wait- 
ing 
In the strange valley it trended that day. 



148 VALLEY OF THE CONEMAUGH. 

Quietly sleeping within the strange valley 
Cities and hamlets unsentineled stood, 

Teeming with thousands whose death-warrant 
echoed 
In the wild wailings that rose from the flood. 

Onward it came like a fleet footed courser! 

Onward I it staid not for forest or tower; 
Onward it came till it rolled o'er the cities 

Mountains of billows in that fated hour. 

Full a score thousand beheld the mad rushing, 
Palsied with fear and bewildered they stood, 

Bound by the magical spell of a demon 
Waiting the shroud of a mountain-walled 
flood. 

What was there left in the beautiful valley 
When the strange waters subsided away ? 

W^recks of the homes of the dead and the des- 
olate 
Thick o'er the valley in festering decay. 

Half a score thousand -the price of invasion- 
Dead and uncoftined lay out on the sand, 

Till the fair valley was turned to a charnel 
Sending its blackness all over the land. 

Making a shrine for devotion, so lonely. 
Fit for a nation to weep with her tears, 

Sacred to song, but more sacred the story 
Will the Death-valley go down with the years. 



ARE OPEN AGAIN. 149 

ARE OPEN AGAIN. 

Weary with watching and waiting and weeping, 

A mother sits longing a father's return, 
The little ones snug in their cot by her sleeping, 

The fast waning embers are ceasing to burn; 
The wild winds without are mourning so sadly, 

Their mock hollow tones like a voice from the 
tomb, 
While swift waves of sorrow dash over her 
madly 

To deepen her grief and to darken her gloom. 

The curtain is lifted, the worst she is fearing, 

That something has led the fond husband 
astray. 
And into the darkness she's tearfully peering 

To catch his faint shadow by some feeble ray. 
The streets are deserted, no footsteps are falling, 

Not even the sentinel's tramp on his beat. 
And only the echoing winds in their calling 

Are heard in their carnival over the street. 

Oh, why the delaying! She hears her heart 
beating 
In strangely strong measures within its closed 
cell, 
While torturously timing the slow moments 
fleeting 
Like strokes for the years of some slow-toll- 
ing bell. 



150 ITALIA. 

Oh, God I for a refuge from what is before her, 
Her long nights of weeping, her sorrow, lier 
pain, 
They have stolen her lover that swore to adore 
her— 
The saloons of the city are open again. 



ITALIA. 

Today as I walked by tlie railroad track, 
I walked by a gang of men— a pack 
Of Dagoes— sloven and swartli and black. 
They were making the bed for the railroad track. 

I could but look as I passed them by, 
At their raven locks and their coal black eye, 
Their leather girdles above their tliigh, 
And I thought of Rome— as I passed them by. 

And I musing said — to myself I said — 
The Caesers of Rome long since are dead, 
Are these of the realms that rule in stead, 
In stead of the Caesers— I musing said. 

Has the mighty fallen to this degree? 
Imperial Rome of the land and sea 
Are these of your princely progeny. 
Are these, who have fallen to this degree! 

Thus nations rise, and fall, and go, 
It was ever thus and it will be so, 
The self exalted shall be lain low — 
Go learn of Rome— thus nations go. 



TO ODESSA ON HER WEDDING DAY. 151 

TO ODESSA ON HER WEDDING DAY. 

Life is a span of uameasured years, 

It may run swift, or it may go slow, 
It may be smiles, or be fringed with tears, 

It is best for us that we do not knov^ 

I think, today, as thee leaves the door 
Where thy infant tongue first broke to speech, 

I fain wouhl blot to be known no more 
So much of life that my thoughts may reach. 

Each trial of sadness that crossed thy brow. 
From an unkind word, or look, or wrong, 

I would blot it out— and see thee now, 
As lulled to sleep with thy cradle song. 

I have gone over the battle of life, 

Can almost see to the ford below; 
Have fought the battles— a ceaseless strife— 

And left no path for thy feet to go. 

I can only wish for thee, a rest — 
A peaceful calm and a length of years; 

Tliat the ties you bind today be blest 
With tears of joy— as your only tears. 



152 A HEART SON(; OF TODAY. 

A HEART SONG OF TODAY. 

Do you miss me say my darlins; - 
When the sunliglit goes to rest 

Ami the somber evening shadows 
Are unfolding in tlie west. 

When you seek your hmely pillow 
By the dim and clieerless light 

Will you tlieu remember darling- 
There is one you love, tonight. 

Do you know liis heart was broken 

Anil liis eyes with tears were dim 
When the cruel words were spoken — 

When you (j^ave a slight to him'^. 
Will y»)u feel no pangs at parting? 

Is it peaceful sleep you sleep 
When you turn so coldly from him, 

That his tear drops inward weep? 

Ahl my heart is only liuman 

Anil though proudly borne away 
It is tilled with dregs of sorrow 

That your love can ill repay. 
I will evermore be waiting 

For another killing blow 
When a foe shall sit beside you 

And shall bid you tell me— ^t?. 

And tbe angui.sh —bitter anguish 
VVbi'n vou sav to me—/'/// t-rue — 



YOU CANNOT TAKE AWAY. 158 

Witb a lover close beside you 

And in love caressing you— 
Better let me go to ashes 

On some barren desert plain 
Or that mother Earth receive me 

Than to linger in this pain. 



YOU CANNOT TAKE AWAY. 

You may take my reputation 

And take my land away, 
You cannot harm salvation 

That keeps me every day; 
It lies beyond temptation 

That leadeth me astray 
The joy of my Salvation 

You cannot take away. 

You may rob me of my station 

My progress may delay, 
But praise and supplication 

Are mine along the way. 
May rob me of my money. 

My goods may meet decay, 
I've got the milk and honey 

You cannot take away. 

I am on the road to Zion 
The journey I wi.U make. 

To see old Judah's lion 
And Him you cannot take. 



154 I AM KING. 



I'm living in the sunshine 

Of God's eternal day, 
The Beulah land of corn and wine 

You cannot take away. 

So to you who are belated 

To get aboard the sliip, 
On which my soul is freighted 

Come join me on the trip, 
And when our journey's blending 

Into the perfect day. 
Our joys will be unending 

They cannot take away. 



I AM KING. 

I haven't a penny about me— 

You doubt me? 
No wealth that I'm calling my own 

My pockets are bare 

I've none anywhere 
And yet I'm a king on a throne. 

And yet I'm a king I dare say — 
Come this way, 

And let us my kingdom survey — 
These urchins you see, 
Are behmging to me, 

And loyal to all I may say: 



I AM KING. 155 

They are loyal to every command- 
Understand?— 

They go at the beck of my hand, 
And true as the sun 
In course it will run, 

They follow the work I have planned. 

Don't talk of the caliphs of old,— 

With their gold— 
That weighted the camels to fall. 

To them came a day 

When all passed away, 
The Caliphs, the kingdom, and all. 

But mine more enduring will be— 
Don't you see? 

For builded on love it must stand. 
For builded on love- 
Begotten above — 

Is better than building on sand. 

My kingdom, my own that I claim- 
Let me name — 

Is simply a home of my own, 
With wife of my heart, 
And children a part, 

Of kingdom— and likewise the throne 



15<> BETRAYED. 

BETRAYED. 

''Husli my babe lie still and slumber 

Holy angels guard thy bed"— 
Sang a maiden young and tender 

From the haunts where crime is fed. 
Ah! the pallid cheeks of sorrow 

Grief unwritten w ith despair, 
Ye are mockers now and scoffers 

Of the maiden's plaintive prayer. 
Once enshrined with truest virtue 

Down to vice and ruin led, 
"Hush my babe lie still and slumber 

Holy angels guard thy bed." 

Once a mother bending o'er her 

Sang the same sweet lullaby, 
Sang it till the angels bore her 

To her mansion in the sky. 
And her Agnes all confiding 

When midway her tears had ran, 
Walked the avenue of pitfall 

Digged by false deceiving man 
And on promise of devotion 

Heart and hand in future WTd — 
*'Hush my babe lie still and slumber 

Holy angels guard thy bed." 

Clad in shame and bitter mourning 
From the home forever fled 

Hear the hollow— sad— repining 
"Holy angels guard thy bed." 



THE ROBIN, 15' 



And the reckless gay deceiver 

In her hour of grief has flown. 
Leaving her the burden bearer 

Of a sin that's all his oyfu. 
All her life is a delusion 

Bitter tear drops inward weep, 
And her beautyhood of woman 

Passeth to eternal sleep. 



THE ROBIN. 

All alone within the attic 
I was pining with rheumatic 
On the matress neath the blankets and 
the coverlets it bore 
All the night with pain unsleeping, 
Somnus with his wings outkeeping 
Never came to stop my weeping, never 
came within my door. 

And the lotions and the plaster 
That of wakefulness are master 
Never brought me their nepenthe 'till the 
clock was striking four,— 
Then I felt their gentle healing 
As if sleep was gently stealing 
And was swimming me away to some dis- 
tant foreign shore. 

I, in fact, a nap was taking. 
Half asleep and half awaking, 



158 THE ROBIN. 

Half a dreaming of the fairies and th« 
dipping of their oar 
And before me flitting lightly 
All the sprites of night unsightly 
Till they drove my hurried breathings to 
an infantilic snore 

When there came the piping warning 
Of the dawning of the morning,— 
Of the piping of the robin on the maple 
at my door; 
And the notes it uttered plainly, 
Ever uttered so ungainly, 
Were the very best his robinhood of learn- 
ing had in store. 

"Kill him- kill him"— first it muttered 
As its moulting wings it fluttered, 
And they stuck into my bosom as a dag- 
ger to the core; 
"Kill him— kill him— cure him— cure 

him" 
I no longer could endure him 
In my semi-waking slumbers, so I bound- 
ed to the floor. 

And the robin there was singing 
On the limb above me swinging. 
Singing this the song in singing that I 
often heard before— 
"Here doctor— kill him— kill him— 
quick — 



IMPROBABILITIES. 159 

Give him— give him— physic— physic"- 
Andin words so plainly spoken that I 
hear them evermore. 

In my ear [ hear the ringing 
Every morning of the singing, 
Of the jubileeing choristers in classic 
birdie lore 
As they gather round my attic 
All unmindful of rheumatic 
And the volumes of their choruses into 
my chamber pour. 

But amid the din and clatter 
Of the piping and the chatter 
I can hear the robin trilling as he woke 
me from my snore — 
"Kill him— kill him— cure him— cure 

him,"— 
I compulsively endure him 
'Till I wish Saint Patrick had him on his 
nether Erin shore. 



IMPROBABILITIES. 
A walrus and a porpoise 

They started out one day— 
Their homes were close together 

And hence not far away, 
They often went a fishing 

Together in the bay. 



l«)(l IMPROBABILITIES. 

They started out one morning 
To see what could be found, 

One if the earth was flattened 
The other if its round, 

''But most" they both were saying 
"Was lying under ground." 

The sword fish followed after 
As fast as he could break; 

The cuttle fish took after him 
And followed in his wake. 

The shark he whet his appetite 
The crowd to overtake. 

They waddled in the water, 
They ran upon some land, 

They saw a man a delving 
With shovel in his hand, 

And with the shovel filling 
The ocean with the sand. 

Another man with dipper, 
Was working for to try 

By dipping from the water 
To drain the ocean dry, 

And he would drain the ocean 
Or know the reason why. 

And so the men together, 

Were working with a will, 
The one to drain the ocean 



AN EPISODE. 161 



The other for to fill, 
And yet despite tlieir efforts 
Remained the ocean still. 

The men are still a living 
And will until they die, 

One for to fill the ocean 
And one to dip it dry, 

And botli are fools together 
And they are, you, and I. 

The sword flsh got the walrus 

The porpoise quickly fled, 
The cuttle fish took after him 

And quickly had him dead, 
The shark he overtook them all 

And on his booty fed; 
And so in life I find it 

The sharks come out ahead. 



AN EPISODE. 

Along the woodland shade I strayed, 

One sultry, torrid afternoon, 
AYhere giant chestnuts rocked and swayed 

Their snowy plumes in latest June; 
The bees were droning through their 
bowers. 

Or flitting through the golden rod, 
Whose clumpy head of jealous flowers 

To blushing buttercups would nod, 



162 AN EPISODE. 

A breath was born from fields of corn — 

From tangled meadows clover bloom — 
As fresh as breezes of the morn 

And freighted with a like perfume; 
Beside me there had met decay, 

A stately monarch of the wood. 
Whose lioary trunk before me lay 

To mingle with the common mould. 

A restful seat it proffered me 

To hear a warbler sweetly sing 
From out the spangled hornbean tree 

Tliat stooped to lap the passing spring; 
And so I sat me down to drowse -- 

Not dreaming any harm to be, 
Or that a sleeping foe would rouse 

From his redoubt to battle me— 

But just as I was growing limp— 

In dreamful, swimming ecstacy — 
A little yellow banded imp 

Bade all his hosts to revelry; 
I slept upon tlieir parapet— 

A thousand tents were in their fort 
In which the soldiery were kept 

For battle— or as guards to court. 

They came with javelins— with the tip 
Of poison on each fiery dart— 

And smote me from the crown to hip 
And foraged every other part ; 

And I just clapped my hands behind 



OUR MAIL CARRIER SAMUEL. 163 

And ran as fast as lightnings do 
To reach a place where I coukl find 
The time to hold an interview. 

A thousand with unerring lance— 

And each to thrust me o'er and o'er 
Within a moment— made me dance— 

And in the next to make me sore; 
I sat on cushions for a week, 

With pillows propped, as soft as down, 
Before I got my normal cheek 

Or dared to venture out of town. 

And since that day whene'er I stray- 
In search of rest and quietude— 

Along a cool, inviting way 
That nestles with the dreamy wood, 

I think of Captain Jack and men, 
The yellow-banded gay platoon 

Who made assault upon me, when 
I slept a sultry afternoon. 



OUR MAIL CARRIER, SAMUEL. 

Same old horse of dapple grey, 
Over the road and back each day, 

See him go I 
To meet the train at eight and ten. 
And at four o'clock must go again 

Rain or snow. 



164 OUR MAIL CARRIER SAMUEL. 

What is the use of clock to tell, 
Samuel keeps the minutes well, 

Day by day, 
If there is dust or mud or snow. 
He reckons tlie minutes to come and go 

On the way. 

Oh! what a troop of joys he brings; 
In silent words the lover sings 

All unknown. 
Or may be songs of sadness sobbed 
From homes the reaper Death has robbed 

Of his own. 

It may be hasty words that's sped, 
Tipped with an arrow's poison head 

Past recall. 
He cannot tell the love he bears; 
Little he recks and little he cares 

For them all. 

He has only his tasks to do, 

Bring missives to me and take to you 

Day by da} , 
And to meet the train at eight and ten 
And go and come at four again 

On his way. 



NOT ALL JOY. 1^5 

NOT ALL JOY, 

Somehow the teardrops blind me as I 

look adown the street, 
And I hear the bugle sounding to the 

measured tread of feet, 
And I hear a thousand voices sending up 

hosannas, for 
To welcome home the soldiers, who are 

coming from the war. 

The starry folds that flutter from the top- 
most staff in town 

To me is as the shadow it is darkly throw- 
ing down, 

And the shrill and quick'ning music of 
the stirring fife and drums 

Is but the funeral echo of the cortege as 
it comes. 

And I seem to lose the beauty of the gold- 
en autumn days. 

When the hillsides call together all the 
rainbow tinted rays, 

And the fields are full of gladness, with 
their thickly dotted corn. 

And the orchard with its fruitage in the 
glow of early morn. 

How well do I remember, when the nuts 

were getting brown 
And the squirrel would leap the branches 

and would gently shake them down, 



166 OCTOBER. 

How together we would saunter through 
the gateway to the mill 

And would talk of lite before us as we 
romped around the hill. 

Then we built our fairy castles— with a 

home upon a farm, 
When the only fortune left us was a 

strong and willing arm, 
That oft pressed me to his bosom, as he 

snatched a kiss away 
To make my life grow sweeter as it 

neared the wedding day. 

Now I walk in sacred stillness, with a 

soft and noiseless tread 
In a valley that is peopled with a nation's 

martyred dead 
And my Si is of the missing— he was 

slain by foul disease 
And is buried in the valley where he 

sailed across the seas. 



OCTOBER. 

What has come over the trees, dear 
mamma ^ 
Their beautiful green has fled. 
And tlie maple which shelters the old 
play ground 
Is yellow and russet and red; 



OCTOBER. 167 

And one by one they are sailing down— 

The leaves from over my head— 
As noiselessly, silently, floating down 

As the footfalls angels tread. 

The pippin has turned to a golden hue, 

And the sickle has severed the corn, 
And the pumpkin, which blushed in morn- 
ing dew 

Now kisses the frosts of morn; 
No more in the mists of twilight grey 

The robin is heard to trill, 
Nor the sweet night songs come over the 
way 

Of the lonesome whip-poor-will. 

And my heart is tuned with a mournful 
song — 

Though the world be ever so gay— 
For I think and know it will not be long 

Till the beauties are chased away. 
And the fields be brown and the woods be 
bare. 

And a regal prince come forth 
From his down of snow in his icy lair, 

In a zone of the nightless north. 



168 HAWAII AND UNCLE SAM. 

HAWAII AND UNCLE SAM, 

Hey! Uncle Sam— come listen! 

And here the Jubilee, 
Columbia has another child, 

And born amid the sea. 
So put another star within 

Our starry field of blue 
And shout hurrah! for Tncle Sam, 

And for Columbia, too. 

Hey! Uncle Sam— come listen! 

And quit your men of war, 
And come asliore just long enough 

To phice another star. 
No doubt your having lots of fun 

Among your jolly tars, 
But let tlieni play the Galling guns 

\^'hile you are getting stars. 

Hey! Uncle Sam— come listen! 

And hear your people shout — 
They're leaving off the ".Monroe" way 

And turning face about. 
And tliey listen not a moment 

To Kaisers or a throne, 
For Uncle Sam is on the deck 

And walking it alone. 

Hey! Uncle Sam -come listen! 
Our youth luis passed away. 
Were're grown to man's estate, and now 



GO RING THE CHANGE. 169 

Were're going to have our say! 
We waded through the fire and blood 

To build a nation riglit— 
The Lord Jehovah leading on 

Triumphant in the flglit. 

Hey I Uncle Sam— come listen I 

To hear of our boasting threat- 
en stars and stripes around the world 

The sun will never set! 
The "Yankee pigs' will rule the deep 

And islands of the sea, 
The wx)rld become our heritage, 

And everybody free, 

Hey! Uncle Sam -come listen! 

To eighty millions strong — 
We're not afraid of all the earth. 

So let them come along. 
And see us put the stars within 

Our starry field of blue. 
And shout hurrah! for Uncle Sam! 

And for Columbia, too! 



GO RING THE CHANGE. 
Go ring the change -we scarce would know, 
That time to His appointments true, 
Had run a cycle, therefore go, 
And ring the change, from Old to New: 
Go climb the steeple— climb the tower— 



170 GO RIND THE CHANGE. 

Unloose the belfry— let it reel, 

And wake the earth to know tlie hour, 

Of blrthliooil with your clanging peal. 



A cycle— with estate so vast; 
A finished book of ancient days; 
A drama of our age is past, 
A volume of our written plays 
Forever finished— put away — 
Though incompleted, it must be — 
To dwarf into a page some day. 
When earth shall write her history. 

Go therefore old, eventful year, 
Fomenterof our war and peace; 
Scarce had our sorrow shed a tear, 
Before a joy had bade it cease. 
Scarce had (mr sulphur throated guns, 
Rang out upon the islets steep, 
'"Till lo!" you cried "the tyrant runs," 
And saw our sullen f oemen weep. 

But stay old bells, let dirges slow- 
In measured cadence if you can— 
From out your iron throats, let go, 
The doings to departing man; 
Your twelve moons wasted— came and went, 
A trifle swifter than before, 
And we estranged, in wonderment. 
Go drifting nearer to our shore. 



GOING BACK. 171 

Ring softly now, ring to the New: 
We turn, reluctant from the Old. 
A fair enchantress is in view, 
With fairer promise to unfold; 
She comes with trappings more divine, 
More rich and gaudy in their hue. 
With hope above her shrine to shine. 
As the Aldeberan, for the New. 

So ring the change, we scarce would know. 
That time to his appointments true. 
Had run his cycle, therefore go 
And ring the welcome to the New, 
Whose visionary days we view, 
As phantoms of fair Freya's mould, 
And hold expectant of the New, 
A better fruitage than the Old. 



GOING BACK. 
I sit in my room by the cosy fire. 
So drowsily sit in the old armchair 
And backward and forward rocking slow. 
Peering without at the new dropped snow; 
Ebbing away from a world of care, 
I am going back to the long ago. 

It is forty years— and I count them o'er 
Since lullaby songs were over me sung— 
Since a mother's arms so fondly pressed 



172 I AM NOT OLD. 

My dimpled cheeks to her throbbing breast 
And lent an ear to my prattling tongue, 
To my half wove words so ill expressed, 

And I see a cradle so often swung 
Where my pillowed head would sweetly rest. 
No king in robes on his dazzling throne 
Could measure the full of life his own 
As I measured mine in my young breast 
Till my minikin cup had overflown. 

For I was a child in those days you know. 
And the wide, wide world was a world for me, 
And the fair young dreams of life so bright 
Were burnished with gold and gleams of light. 
And I was happy as wish could be 
In those days so fragrant of full delight. 

Oh happy the days and dreams of youth I 

They live as the green in the desert sand, 

And after years when the sun is low. 

When the eye grows dim and the step more slow, 

While going down to the river's strand, 

We may live again in the long ago. 



I AM NOT OLD. 

They tell me I am old to sing 

The clustering songs of buoyant Hope; 
A Bard should turn his face from spring 



I AM NOT OLD. 173 

While going down the western slope — 
His passions slay, 
And lay away 
As keepsakes of a bygone day. 

They tell me I am old to write, 
Of wooings of a cooing dove — 
Or with a poet's fire indite 
A sonnet to a lady love; 
It may be so 
I do not know 
When songs of youth shall cease to flow. 

If I can know— and only know- 
That Hope as my eternal guest, 
In gushing streams will ever flow 
In sweetness to my aching breast. 
Till earth enfold 
Her common mould 
I never will nor can grow old. 

How will I know when I am old? 
Not by the stolen years of time; 
Not by a heart in growing cold; 
Not by a crown of winter's rime; 
Not till I see 
My days to be 
Are blending with eternity 
Will I be old. 



174 THE WOODCHUCK. 

THE WOODCHUCK. 

There's a hole in the ground in the woods 

With okl dry leaves for a door ; 
And a pair most rare are the housekeepers there,— 

But they have no household goods. 

When frosts from the north with wild winds sweep 

The leaves from the sad, sad trees ; 
And the crow he will go where the south winds blow, 

These housekeepers go to sleep. 

And the winter's storm so rough and rude, 

May howl in their blasts above, 
In a sleep that is deep, our housekeepers keep, 

In their house-hole in the wood. 

And there they sleep till the frogs will sing- 
Till the crow returns to his nest. 

And the notes from the tliroats of the song bird floats 
On the air of balmy spring. 



A RIDE INTO THE COUNTRY. 

You should ride into the country on an early morn in June, 
When the sun has climbed thp highest at the fulling of 

the moon, 
When the breath from off the clover ladened with its 

perfume sweet 
Comes creeping with the shadows of the waves across 

the wheat: 



THE WOODPECKER. 175 

When the robin sings the loudest from the top-most 

locust tree, 
And you hear the heavy droning of the laden honey bee, 
And the drowsy tinkling echo from the shaded pasture 

steep, 
Where the herds are slowly rising from a lazy restful 

sleep. 

You should ride into the country in the early moon in 

June, 
Where Xature is playing of her most enchanting tune. 
And the meadows join the anthem with the rustling 

blades of corn 
In their shouting hallelujahs to the waking of the morn. 
It beats the fields of Georgia with her melon crops and 

sand, 
It beats where rolls the Oregon amid the mountains 

grand, 
It beats New England's beaches where the tides come in 

and go 
When you ride into the country, of a June in Ohio. 



THE WOODPECKER. 

By the side of my house in a doting old cherry 
A woodpecker sits all the day in the sun, 

"With his mallet and chisel he's pegging away 
At a house he is building in haste to be done; 

He sings as he works and he works as he sings. 
And lightly the chips they fall down to the ground 



376 THE FARMER'S COMPLAINT. 

As he fashions his parlor away from the storms, 
With wainscote of cherry extending around. 

His song is not sweet for its delicate tone, 

Nor mou) nf ully tender and dovelike to hear, 
But it rings from his throat with a ring all his own 

And is full of the music that eclioes a cheer; 
There are mockers and scoffers who try to assail him. 

And cat-birds who scold with a rasping delight, 
But the woodpecker sits on the stoop of his dwelling, 

His work it is heavy his heart it is light. 

The clouds may arise and go scudding above him. 

He turns not his eye from the work to be done. 
And knows that the shadows are fleeting and vanish 

And after the raindrops will follow the sun; 
His work is near finished— his song is more joyous— 

An auburn plumed maiden— shirt waisted in white- 
With skirts of unfading and lustrous blackness. 

Will be the first guest of the homestead tonight. 



THE FARMER^S COMPLAINT. 

Today as I wandered I heard a complaining, 
The wailings of woe from the farmers around. 

Who long have been praying for clouds and their raining 
To gladden the harvest and moisten the ground. 

The frost king had come as a cruel invader 
And smote the young harvest just lifting its head— 



PETITION AND ITS ANSVVER. 177 

No sea king, or baron, or Spanish crusader 

E'er left in their wake such a multiplied dead. 
The wheat fields were bowed to the earth in submission, 

The daisy-decked meadows were saddened and drear, 
The orchard submitted in humble contrition 

And nothing was left but the brown and the sere. 
The corn fields besieged by the cutworms in legions, 

The clover fields pestered by midges and slugs 
Wliich came like the Gauls from the uttermost regions. 

The allies of worms and the beetles and bugs; 
The fly and the weevil the wheat are devouring — 

The canker worm swings on his gossamer thread, 
Let fall from the apple tree over him towering, 

Whose leaves by marauders are withered and dead; 
The heat is abnormal— the moisture deficient; 

The harvest is light and the prices are low; 
So the farmer 'mid all must be well-night omniscient 

And in every season contend with a foe. 



PETITION AND ITS ANSWER, 

Oh Time I Thy mystery unfold to me. 

And let me see what I shall be,— 
Whether this heart of mine shall be at rest, 

Or, be its porti(m, troubled waves to breast. 
I would to know:— Thy mystery show. 

Then spake from out the depth of Spirit land, 
A voice that stirred my soul from out its sleep— 

A still small voice— "daughter, give me thy hand, 
I will unfold to thee, this mystery hidden deep.** 



178 PETITION AND ITS ANSWER. 

The voice that spake was voiced from out the clouds, 

And at command the mystery unrolls 
Each step of life, from swaddling clotlies to shrouds, 

And after death the dwelling place of souls. 

Backward I went to wliere my life began, 
And saw forwhat'each tear-drop coursed its way, 

Beheld each rugged pathway I had ran, 
And saw each flood of grief I tried to stay. 

And I beheld tlie pleasures I pursued, 
Idke dreams of fancy tliey had winged away. 

But came to me again,—in solitude 
To show the base deceit in life they play. 

And I beheld a narrow path- a way- 
Straight as the rays from yonder noonday sun, 

The end thereof was where the ransomed stay, 
Lit by the presence of the Holy One. 

Along the path, —alluring to the eye, 
^v'ere gateways bold, and many entering in, 

While o'er tlie gateways on the arches, I 
Beheld, Divinity had written SIN. 

Within a gate a Church's steeple stood, 
Wliose bell pealed forth upon each Sabbath morn; 

One tliat renounced Atonement through the Blood, 
And said a Christ had never yet been born. 

And fasiiion stood within the gate,-- a god, 
And those with prayer-books worshipped at her slirine; 



THE HYPOCHONDRIAC. 179 

They bowed obedience to her iron rod, 

And said to her,— our hearts are wholly thine. 

And avarice was there, with hoarded gold, 
And he who heeded not the orphan's cry; 

The base deceivers of the wares they sold, 
The jealous Christian with an evil eye. 

The multitude I saw at first grew small, — 

They heard the sounds of revelry within 
The gateways, consciously their footsteps fall 

Under the arches where was written 5/;/. 

Then spake the voice to me again,— beware, 

Thouseest now where errors first begin; 
'*To err is human,"— but thou needst not err 

For o'er each gateway I have written Sin." 



THE HYPOCHONDRIAC. 

I was lying on a pallet, in a torrid attic room, 
With the blazing sun of August, beating hard against 
my door, 
I was dying with a fever, and I knew my coming doom, 
When I heard the startled footsteps as they tip-toed 
'cross the floor. 

I could hear the whispered counsel of the doctor's bated 
breath, 
As he told the nurses 'round me of their duties as I go, 



180 THE HYPOCHONDRIAC. 

How to watch the beaded dampness, as it shadows com- 
ing death, 
When my pulse is growing feeble and my breath is 
growing slow. 

And I heard the rugged voices of some friends I long had 
known— 
They were in a room adjoining, but the door was left 
ajar— 
They were telling to each other, when my wife is left 
alone 
How her life will be more happy if she marries Jerry 
Carr. 

And Jerry he was with them, for I heard his voice, I 
know, 

And Jerry is a widower— two years ago this fall- 
Before I married Caroline he use to be h^r beau— 

And now I know he's thinking he will get her after alL 

"Come Carrie just a minute now"— ah I that was Jerry's 
voice — 
He was talking 'bout a coffin whether rosewood or 
just plain, 
And the wretched— hateful Jerry, and my Carrie, both 
rejoice. 
And me, within that attic just a dying with a pain. 

I will teach them botli a lesson like as Lazarus of old- 
Then I bounded from my pallet, as a very nimble hare. 
And I rushed from out my attic quicker than the story's 
told, 
And I followed them retreating, down a very _dizzy 
stair. 



WISHING. 181 

And Jerry— he went scutlding to the other side the street, 
And Carrie— she embraced me with an old familiar 
kiss, 

While I forgot my fever with my swift and subtle feet, 
And Jerry's calculations— they will likely go amiss. 



WISHING. 

"Star light, star bright, 

First star I've seen tonight. I wish"— 

And the maiden wished for a youth to stray 

From a bower of the citrus trees 
In a broken shallop to drift away 

From his lovelit isle of the seas. 

And that she was a pirate bold and free 
And could feel the touch of his hand. 

To bear her away on the moonlit sea 
To the isle of his lovelit land. 

And that she as a cavalier could ride 

To the fore of a cavalcade 
Who welcomed the Prince and his pale-faced bride 

To the courts of the orange shade. 

Where the whispering sea would tell of the loves 

It had born on its waves asleep. 
To the aisles that ran through the myrtle groves 

To the sea cliffs over the deep. 



182 A pilgrim's monody. 

That his liome woiihl be where the perfumes blow 
From the rose fiehls dotting the land 

Where the maids of the realm would come and go 
At the beck of her lily hand. 

And the tell-tale stars in their gleam of light 
From a throne where the wished for be, 

Would watch from their baldric home of the night 
O'er the lovelit isle of the sea. 



A PILGRIM^S MONODY. 

Just out of Damascus a careworn pilgrim was musing; 

On his shoulder a stick he carried, plucked from the way- 
side hedges, 

And pendent there swung beneath, a budget of tattered 
apparel. 

He was ill, decrepit and aged, and just had passed 
through the village; 

Hunger had gnawed on his vitals, and his lips were 
parched with thirsting. 

" 'Tis beautiful," he was saying, "a beautiful village 
truly, 

And the churches stand like beacons, thick on the trav- 
eled pathway. 

Lifting their heads to the heavens as the watch tower of 
their Zion. 

I came to this village at even, footsore, famished and 

needy, 

And thought to myself, ah surely! they cannot forget thfr 
weary. 



A PILGRIM'S MONODY. 183 

Their houses are full of plenty, their hearts with the 

love of giving, 
They follow tlieir Christ in teaching, to give and be 

blessed in the giving." 
And so when I entered the village I was grasping a vain 

delusion, 
For I found their Peace a tempest, as I begged of them 

alms for existence. 
Their hearts were as cold as Nero's, they bade me begone 

in a minute, 
And when I remonstrated with them, and told them the 

beautiful teaching— 
"If any man hunger to feed him, if any is thirsty to 

quench it, 
If any is naked to clotlie him,"~they called me a brazen 

imposter, 
And bade me begone from their dwelling, 
And they closed the door at my going. 
And so ill the world I am weary, and given to often re- 
pining, 
Because my life is a burden, and I have to beg for a living. 
My spirit is one with the Master, He passed with me 

through the village, 
He heard what His people were saying, who turned from 

the cry of the needy, 
And He whispered to me so sweetly, in the still small 

voice of the ages. 
"lnas)}iuch as my poor they rejected they also rejected the 

iMaslerr 
Christ came to the town with the Pilgrim and heard 

what His people were saying, 



184 A CONFESSION. 

And wept at their ways of deception, and said with his 

weeping and wailing — 
" They gave of a stone to their Father, when for bread 

it was he was asking; 
They gave when their giA ing redonnded, and echoed tlie 

praise of their giving, 
But little they gave for the Master, unheralded unto the 

brethren." 
And so the old Pilgrim passed onward, footsore, weakened 

and weary. 
Till the curtain of death drew around him, nearing a 

beautiful city— 
Until with the bright and celestial, he entered the beau- 
tiful city. 



A CONFESSION. 

Last night as I slept in a fitful, false sleeping, 

The winds in sad havoc were howling around. 
The clouds of the night fell to wailing and weeping, 

Their frostbitten tear-drops to whiten the ground; 
They fell in thick clusters, in furrows, and ridges, 

They made of the haystack a mountain of snow, 
And bent the small reeds o'er the brooks for their bridges, 

Or silently went to the waters below. 

But little I slept, for I dreamed in my sleeping. 
That winter had gone and the summer was here— 

And I, all alone, for my sweetheart was weeping 
And bitterly wept by the side of her bier; 



AN ALASKAN'S LAMENT. 185 

Methought I was false to the vows I had spoken 
When fondly I pressed her, my bride, to my breast. 

And she had grown weary, heart heavy, and broken, 
4nd calmly had gone to her refuge of rest. 

I bitterly wept as I pressed her white forehead 

And planted a kiss on her cold, clammy cheek, 
As I pleaded forgiveness, although she was dead. 

And I knew she was dumb to words I could speak; 
I lived my life over— 'twas full of regretting-- 

While hers was as white as the new fallen snow— 
And deeds of my life I would fain be forgetting 

Were first and the foremost their terror to show. 

I saw the black liearse bear my love in her sleeping. 

My grief stricken pleadings, though plaintive, were vain 
She went to the grave with my sighing and weeping, 

My sweetheart, my love I had cruelly slain; 
I lay down beside her whom I was adoring, 

Determined my life with her life should expire, 
My dream was capsized, and I woke from my snoring 

My wife and my sw^eetheart was building the fire. 



AN ALASKAN'S LAMENT. 

I am lonely, very lonely, and I pine the weary day 
In my little rocky fortress 'ueath the snow, 

As I gaze upon the picture of a face that's far away, 
In a little cottage home in Ohio. 

Oh I the winds are loudly wailing I can hear them wildly 
say 



186 AN ALASKAN'S LAMENT. 

That "I long have been forgotten at its door, 
That my darling has grown coldly in my absence far 
away, 
And I never shall be welcome any more." 

I remember at our parting, how lier grief would overflow, 
How her briny tear-drops trickled on my cheek, 

How that one among the number there was urging me to 

go, 

And my fortune in the golden land to seek, 

And, I turning, said unto him, as I stepped aboard the 
train, 

"May I kindly ask a favor, sir, of you? 

That you see my darling Mary to our home by yonder 

lane, 

As the mists will slowly hide me from her view." 

As the train was moving onward I could see them arm in 
arm. 
Slowly trending back the traveled way they came — 
They were only friends and neighbors not thinking any 
harm, 
But the green-eyed monster formed one just the same. 
Three years have passed since then— I have never writ- 
ten home, 
And it may be that they think of me as dead. 
But the scene I saw at parting at the twiliglit's early 
gloam 
Made them years of bitter sorrow that have fl^ed 

Today there came a letter after many month's delay- 
In a strangely written hand it was to me,— 



THEY SAY. 187 

And I read the faded writing as I brushed a tear away, 

That my darling I can never hope to see, 
She has found a Love more faithful in another golden 
land, 
Who has promised all His treasure as her own, 
She has passed through tribulation at the guidance of 
His hand, 
And is sleeping in the churchyard 'neath a stone. 



THEY SAY. 

They Say— is his name— and he came here today 
With affable manners and dressed rather gay 
And he whispered to me— that is always his way 
When he starts on a rampage with nothing to say.— 

He whispered tome that Bess Lee had gone wrong 
The flesh it was weak -the temptation was strong 
And They Say said she danced— now dancing is wrong- 
In a grove in the night, to a bacchanal song. 

John Jones took Maud Smith to a party last night, 
He was dressed in his best— but John he was tight— 
And one eye it was black— he had been in a fight— 
And Maud Smith she pretends to do just what is right. 

They Say, said our deacon Tim, Teddy O'Roak, 
He borrowed some money from widow McCroak, 
And he knew when he got it tliat he was dead broke 
And that now^ the old widow and Tim never spoke. 



188 THEY SAY. 

They Say— he said too - that old Christopher Tool, 
Came out of the war and was kicked by a mule. 
And Chris swore in his papers for pension— the fool — 
He was hurt in the Army— and lied on the mule. 

They Say— left his work and before he begun 
To tell what Steve Sanor to Katy had done— 
He was mad as a hornet and loaded his gun 
And he took aim at Katy— but Katy she run. 

They Say— said my neighbor young Timothy Hay 
Was having some trouble a mortgage to pay 
So he turned in some sheep from the road gone astray 
And he clipped off their brand and put on them— "T. Hay." 

Bill Weaver sold wheat at the mill the same day 
Put his foot on the scale as the miller would w^igh 
He went home and to church, and he prayed so they say, 
That the Lord would have mercy on Timothy Hay. 

John Elmer went fishing and took for his bait 
Some worms and old bourbon, and put in a crate 
And he came home that night at a quarter of eight 
With some snakes in his boots, and the worms in the crate. 

They Say, said our preacher old Potipher Stooks 
Stepi)ed out the back way, and away from his books 
And he went to the kitchen— kissed one of the cooks 
And his wife saw him kiss her— and spoiled his good looks. 

And they say a divorce has already begun, 
Mrs. Stooks has. applied— and the Mr. wants one 
And the knot they once tied he now says is undone 
But he's trusting the Lord for providing him one. 



WHEN HE WENT DOWN TO NEW YORK. 189 

Then I left the old croaker— They Say — in the lurch 
Put on my new robes and I marched into church 
And the people whose lives he was trying to smirch 
They were having "love feast" and tlieir prayers in the 
church. 



WHEN HE WENT DOWN TO NEW YORK. 

The man with the hoe went down the lane 

Down the dog-fennel path of the cow — 
And he sighed to himself— ah never again 

Will I follow the wake of the plow. 
Ah ! never again will I wield the hoe, 

Nor wrestle the four lined fork 
If I do you may say that my cake is dough 

When I land in the great Xew York. 

So he bundled his boots, and socks, and blouse. 

And bound with a leather thong. 
And stealthily left the old farm house- 

The place he had lived so long — 
And went to the depot over the w^ay— 

In the wee little town of Cork — 
And boarded a train that went that day 

Right into the great New York. 

It was night when he got in the great big town. 

But the people were all ago- 
And a score of cappers, they gathered round 

To meet our man of the hoe; 



190 WHEN HE WENT DOWN TO NEW YORK. 

And they led him into a dingy den, 

Whose exit he could not trace, 
And left liim alone with a lot of men 

Who seemed to be running the place. 

They bandaged his eyes with bandage strong 

And pinioned his arms behind, 
And led through halls and archways long, 

For the entrance place to find; 
Up flights of stairs to tlieir dizzy height. 

Then back, and down again, 
Through doors tliat led to the left and right 

Till he didn't know where he'd been. 

They knew liis name-surname and all 

That lie came from tlie town of Cork 
Tliat liis purse was full, and his knowledge small 

Of the ways of great New York; 
But e'er he left, that a change would come 

To the man of the four tined fork 
And his purse be small when he started home, 

But he'd know lots of New York. 

He's home again, rmd he guides the plow 

For the man to whom he sold. 
And he goes each night to pail the cow 

As he did in the (Jays of (dd 
But he somehow thinks of the days gone by, 

When he boar ^mI the train at Cork, 
How he canu^ ' a< k with a purse gone dry 

That he left in the great New York. 



WHERE IS HEAVEN ? 191 

WHERE IS HEAVEN? 

Where is Heaven ? I asked one day 
Of one wlio was leading a flock the way, 
And he answered me thus: 
To me 
Heaven is a place in the stars we see 
Ood's better spheres in the yet to be! 
It is a place. It is not a state ^ 

Of blissful dreams—with a pearly gate 
And rivers of waters and streets of gold 
And youth that never is growing old; 
It is a place, and why not be 
From star to star to infinity. 
I look to the heavens and peeping through 
Are the countless worlds I am going to; 
I'll have my being, my life and mould 
Be borne anew and be growing old 
And pass from star to star and on 
As I have before on the journey gone, 
And my heaven shall be to see and know 
Of the beauteous things through the world I go. 
This earth is a star— I have been before 
On worlds on worlds I have trodden o'er, 
But the grand old earth shall ever be 
Till I move beyond a heaven to me. 

Where is Heaven? I asked one day 
Of one who was leading a flock the way, 
And he answered me thus: 
'To me 
Heaven is a spirit land" said he. 



192 WHFRE IS HEAVEN ? 

We hope, we dream, we expect some day 

This body and spirit to pass away. 

The body to dust- the spirit to rise 

And dwell with the just in Paradise, 

An etherial realm— where mind will be 

Free to I'asliion its destiny; 

To fashion the mansion, the throne, the street. 

The friends most fair tliat we longed to meet, 

The sweet low valley, the flowery dell 

Where the heavenly harper's music fell 

And fashion a world of dreamy air 

As real as though it were really there. 

For life may be to us all a dream 

And things they may not be as they seem 

And we on a world alone may be 

To fashion in dreams what we think we see. 

For man is a spirit, his God above 

Is only a spirit of light and love. 

Where is Heaven? I asked one day 
Of one who was leading his flock the way, 
And he answered me thus: 
To me 
It matters not where the Heaven may be, 
I only know that my Lord has gone 
Some place, somewhere, to prepare me one. 
That he left a chart and a compass true 
And a guide to help as a pilot through. 
I do not know if the stars may be 
Or only in dreams my Heaven I see — 
I know just this— that the crucified 



HANNAH. 193 

Has said that I shall be satisfied. 

You ask of Heaven? oh mortal man 

With life linked out as a single span, 

Look into the stars, on the dreamy road 

For rest and peace with your weary load; 

Or into the byways often trod 

In quest of a nearer path to God. 

Ye first must know, that the road to go 

Leads by the cross— he has told you so— 

Take up my cross and follow me 

And it matters not where the Heaven may be. 



HA.NNAH. 

Outside of the village, where fretted with gulches - 
Made deep by the rushing of torrents of springtime — 
The garbage and filth of the village is carted 
And heaped on a mound in a modern Gehenna; 
One day, as I looked on the ruins of rubbish. 
The wares that were broken— the metals all rusted, 
Together with that which no longer was useful, 
I spied close beside me in garment of sable 
And stooping in posture, — a woman, grey headed; 
She deftly was stepping, as over she fumbled 
The heap from the household discarded or broken. 
As searching for treasures mistakenly buried. 
I listened a moment, I heard some sweet singing. 
Not loud and not rapturous, but solemn and slowly; 
It broke on my ear like the song of a Scylla 
And fell from the lips of the maiden before me: 



194 HANNAH. 

''Come Willie! my Willie! Your mammals calling, 
You are sleeping too long in the midsummer day; 
The cradle I rocked since the dews ceased a falling, 
But some one has taken your slipper away; 
Husli-a-bye, hush-a-bye, rock-a-bye, Willie, 
Hush-a-bye, darling, go sleepy, I say; 
The night will grow dark and the air will be chilly, 
But what will become of. the slippers, I pray— 
Go to sleep darling, go sleepy, I say," 
In my eyes was a tear at her wailing of anguish, 
The deep of my heart in its depths had been stirred, 
I heard her sad story in monologue saying; 
"When Willie was dead and I stood there before him- 
Encoffined and shrouded in sleep— his last sleeping- 
The ii Im on his eye and his ff-atures all faded, 
I pressed to ray bosom his little pink slipper— 
The dear little slipper that first knew his stepping— 
And heard there distinctly the gleesome, glad echoes- 
Like shells from the seashore that echo its soundings- 
The cooing and prattle of dear little Willie, 
As rising and falling and stumbling at walking 
He made his first step ere the fever came on him," 
Oriel stricken and frenzied and almost demented, 
When Willie was buried beneath the green velvet 
Which grew o'er tlie graves of the little ones buried. 
She clung to the slipper and fondled and pressed it 
And sang her sweet luUabys lovingly to it. 
In happy delusion that Willie still lingered; 
His cooing she heard within the pink slipper— 
The gleesome glad prattle of baby at walking— 
And motherly like she would talk to her darling 
Like one in the flush of her baby's first walking. 



FORSAKEN. 195 

To stop her mad ravings, they stole the pink slippers, 
And bade her be calm and to rest from her sorrows 
When stealing away from the guards who were watching 
She rushed to the rubbish outside of the village 
And there she was turning the wares and the metal 
In search of the little pink slipper of Willie. 
Of reason berefted her sweet voice was singing 
"Come Willie, my, Willie, your mamma is calling 
You are sleeping too long this mid-summer day 
The cradle I rocked since the dews ceased a falling 
But some one has stolen your slipper away 
Hush-a-bye,' baby go sleepy I say." 
The dews of the night in their stillness were falling — 
The stars overhead in their turn were the watchers— 
The moon like a flood in the still misty mid-night 
Had covered the land with a sheen of its silver, 
W^hen out of its temple a spirit went marching 
And mother and Willie again were together. 



FORSAKEN. 

Mournfully sad are the feelings come stealing, 

Over a friend and a brother I view 
Feeling the pangs of a heart in its breaking 

Over a love that had proven untrue. 
Hands in his pockets, he listlessly saunters. 

Whistling a tune all disjointed and broke, 
Bowed as a reed is the tower of his spirit. 

Once he had thought was as strong as an oak. 



196 COL. A. L. HAWKINS. 

Cruelly tlirust by a fickle deceiver, 

Harbors are none for his refuge of grief; 
Longing he looks at the cliiseled cold marble 

Knowing beneath he can find a relief. 
Friends they may pass and repass him unnoticed, 

Broken the charm of a life and its spell. 
Weary the days, and the nights they are sleepless; 

Life is a burden in league with a hell. 
Somehow I know that some day his sorrow 

Falls as a burden on her who deceived 
Tears he had shed will go back to their fountain. 

Grieving a heart that so cruelly grieved. 
God, he is just, and a faithful re warder 

Of hearts that are tender, trustful and true, 
Likewise avenger of faithless deceivers. 

Giving to each the deserts that are due. 



COL. A. L. HAWKINS, 

Died on mid ocean returning home from Manila with 
the loth Pa. Regiment. 

Dead— on the homeward journey 

Dead— as the work was through. 
Dead— as the gay decked harbor 

Waited to welcome you. 
Dead — on the ocean billows, 

Chanting a lullaby 
Sleeping a wakeless sleeping, 

Under a tropic sky, 
Gone— but the glory lingers— 

Never a blot or stain 



IN MEMORIAM. 197 

To fall on the bright escutcheon, 
To render your glor}' vain. 
Gone— and a nation weeping 

AVaiteth in tears to-day, 
To welcome the sad returning— 

From wlience you sailed away. 
Gone— and the flags are drooping; 

Banquets are t-adly spread; 
The Nation is welcoming lieroes — 

But mourning her honored dead. 



IN MEMORIAM 

JOHN BUTLER, DIED 12 MO. 12, 1887. 

When I beheld his form of lifeless clay 
Before me, draped in funeral array, 
Those well known eyes closed by eternal shades, 
Those pallid lips so motionless and still- 
Blest by triumphant smiles— congealed in death' 
I said, that out from Israel's camp had gone 
A Patriarch, whom we could all adore, 
One rich in wisdom and in saintly lore. 
We miss him in the church— his tender care, 
His counsel fitly spoke -his judgment rare, 
Were like the oil upon the troubled sea— 

Wlien storms in fury rose on every side, 
It calmed the billows in their mutiny. 

And held in check the rising of the tide; 
Just so— unto his chosen people —he 
Was as the oil upon the troubled sea. 



198 IN MEMORIAM. 

An honest purpose he could not transcend, 
And right was law, regardless of a friend; 
The poor received from him a guardian's care, 
The weak in faith, made strong by words of cheer; 
The drooping head he lifted up with prayer, 

And witli tlie sorrowing heart he shed a tear: 
Thus acting well the Christian's part, 
Moved by the heavenly impulse of his heart. 
And now o'er him the funeral rites are said; 
He sleeps —white-robed and crowned, among the 

dead; 
And though no marble shaft above him stand, 

And though no sculptor's hand has chiseled 
praise. 
Yet there is raised a monument more grand, 
Built by his noble deeds, his walks and ways, 
His firm unyeildijig faith, his child-like trust- 
That shall remain when marble yields to dust. 
And in the full fruition of his joy. 
Beyond tlie reach of aught that can destroy— 
I see him, by the eye of faith —at rest; 
Accepted— in the Paradise of God; 
One of the few annointed, cliosen. blest. 
That bore the chastenings of the Master's rod, 
And now have entered on their great reward, 
As faithful servants of their chosen Lord. 



AN OCTOBER SABBATH. 199 

AN OCTOBER SABBATH, 

Sweet, quiet rest— the busy world now sleeps, 
Touched by the Master Workman's hand 

Light from the shadowy darkness creeps, 
Throughout the Land. 

And yet a stillness, deep, profound. 

Is everywhere,— no workman's sound 

Is echoed from the walls around. 

The dusky sentinel, from wliose draped crown 
Belched forth the smoke with tongue of 
flame 

On yesterday —wears but a frown 
From whence it came. 

And palsied, motionless there stands 

The polished shaft, and sinewy bands 

Fit subjects of the brawny hands. 

A stillness everywhere. -The lowing herd 
Has sought the stately elm-trees shade. 

As if the voice that spoke the word 
When worlds were made 

Had them in keeping, and today 

Were quiet that the world might pay 

A tribute on the King's Highway. 

It seems that men forget their ways —the street. 
The busy mart by throngs oppressed, 

Is measured by slow moving feet 
In search of rest. 

A careless, listless, heedless throng 



20O AN OCTOBER SABBATH. 

They move forgetfully along 
Enticed by some fair Siren's song. 

My thoughts go back to when Jurtea's plain 

Was gilded by the Eastern star 
Of Bethlehem— that coursed the train 

Of shepherds where 
Upon that star crowned day of old 
The wise men saw and cried "behold" 
He whom the prophets have foretold. 

Back when our Sabbath first awoke— the day 

When resurrection first began, 
When angels rolled the stone away— 

The perfect plan 
Of man's redemption through the grave 
Was finished— and himself He gave 
That others thro'ugh him He might save. 

Sweet Sabbath-day— Omnipotence hath said 

In his immutable bequest, 
Six days we earn our daily bread 

And one we rest. 
And for this one we sing our lay 
The day of rest -the Sabbath-day, 
The pilgrim's mile stone on his way. 

This day is lined with golden thought to me 

Of time— and what shall crown the race, 

The soul looks through the veil to see 
Its resting place. 

And from the heart petitions flow 



TO A PICTURE. -<*1 

Receiving answers as they go 
That set the very soul aglow. 

Methinks when coming sliades of night reveal 

The shadows of the closing day 
And peaceful slumbers gently steal 

Our thoughts away, 
'Twill be a solace then most sweet 
While resting at the Master's feet 
To know the day's work is complete. 



TO A PICTURE. 

J have a picture on my wall— 

The picture of a Jersey calf— 
And near it is an empty stall. 

An old man leaning on a staff, 
Old-fashioned sweep above the well, 
And where the tangled clover fell, 
A mother cow witli tinkling bell, 

Stands gazing at her calf. 

The meager fields are seen untilled 

With scattering apple trees in view, 
The branches drooping - overfilled, 

With fruitage of a golden hue. 
And to the fore a cabin stands, 
Unkept by housewife's tidy hands, 
In keeping with the untilled lands, 
Where thorn and bramble grew. 



202 THE RETURN. 

Oh! where the dame the okl man's frow. 

Who trained the ivy-lattice round, 
And temple of the cabin's brow, 

Or cypress round the lintels wound; 
We do not know— but our surmise 
That she has gone to Paradise, 
And left a home with sunny skies. 
Where praises oft abound. 

Me think I hear the old man say- 
As leaning on his staff to gaze- 
In visions, where the meadows lay 

Of sweet and happy by-gone days— 
"I am waiting, Jean, the days go slow, 
But I must bide my time to go. 
And you will see me and will know 
When I have passed away." 



THE RETURN. 

Back, little songster into the tree, 
Where you warbled months ago to me, 
Che-ree, che-ree, from your tiny throat, 
That same sweet song with a gladder 
note. 

Three years, when the ground was cold 

and bare. 
At the touch of Spring I heard you there. 
In that same old tree -with bird-love nigh, 
Breathe out your loves to a wintry sky. 



THE RETURN. 203 

Today, my bird, you are here alone. 
Pray tell me wliere has your loved one 

gone? 
Did her love grow cold— her heart untrue, 
Or did she die in her love for you? 

'Way down where the orange groves are 

seen, 
With golden fruit on their tufts of green 
Where the cypress weeps old Ocean's 

spray. 
My bird-love warbled her dying lay. 

"Once while I sang in a hooded pine. 

That stood entwined by the ivy vine, 

My heart grew sad, as she whispered me 

Of our old home in the apple tree. 

"And craved when the Ides of March re- 
turned, 

The climbing sun on the hillslopes burn- 
ed. 

That I alone, if her voice be still 

And hushed in death on the pine-topped 
hill, 

Would wing my way to our Northern 
home. 

And pipe the notes of the 'springtime 
come.' 

'Neath pampas gras^, where the white 

plumes wave, 
'I chanted long o'er a bird-love's grave, 
And now in tlie apple tree I sing 
Che-ree, che-ree, the return of spring. 



204 



THE OLD BRICK MEETING HOUSE. 




THE OLD BRICK MEETING HOUSE. 

Old Meeting House— all! well I see, 
Not iiuiiiy changes vvrougiit in thee 
Since I was young! Here's the spot— 
Facing Bruff's old pasture lot- 
Where it stood. 
Over there was Hoops's wood 
Where the sweet magnolia stood — 

They are gone; 
But the house of brick and stone, 
Dimmed by mosses on it grown 

Stands alone 
Just the same; the roof and trees 



THE OLD BRICK MEETING HOUSE. 205 

Cornice void of scroll or frieze 

Older gro\Mi; 
Same tlie structure— quaint and old, 
Type of ages past thy mould — 

Strangely old. 
Here I romped and here I played 
In the sunshine and tliy shade— 

Heat and cold. 

I have memories cling to me 

Of my days of infancy — 
Dreaming o'er— 

When a funeral cortege came 

Bearing one of likened name 
To thy door. 

He a brother — but a child, 

Angel featured soft and mild- 
Called away; 

And from out thy door they bore 

Brother, to return no more 
From the clay. 

Yet again a casket came, 
Bearing one of humble fame 

To thy door; 
But with ties more strong, and dearer. 
And of kinship deeper, nearer 

Than before— 
It was Father! Broken-hearted 
From our dead the living parted 

Weeping sore; 



206 THE OLIJ BRICK MEETING HOUSE. 

And tliey placed liim in thy meadow, 
Underneath a passing shadow 

Coming on 
Side by side they sleep together 
Summer's heat and winter's weather- 
Sire and son. 

Same okl Meeting House of sadness? 
Yes;- and I recall a gladness 

Miiny tim.es, 
Wiien the silence long was broken 
By the marriage vows— the spoken 

Wedding chimes; 
Never was a priest or pastor 
Of thy ceremonies master- 
Never one — 
But the simple rites were said 
To each other they were wed 
All alone. 

House of death and house of birth, 
House of s()rr(>w and of mirth, — 

So we run- 
House of pleasure, house of gloom, 
Gateway to the meadow tomb— 

They are one. 



THE GOING OF OUR VOLUNTEERS. 207 

THE GOING OF OUR VOLUNTEERS. 

Go forth, brave boys-'tis war's alarm 

To call you from the hearthstone dear- 
Brave patriot sons of noble sires 

Whose courage fetters every fear; 
Not that invaders dark our doors 

To claim our heritage of land, 
But Freedom shrieks along our shores, 

And becks us with her withered hand. 

Oo forth, brave boys -each noble heart 

For love of country— follows you — 
God speed you well— as you depart— 

To wear the soldiers' hallowed blue; 
Go forth, and bid "Old Glory" wave 

Across the land— above the sea — 
Above each patriot Cuban's grave— 

And smite each foeman of the free. 

Go forth— your glory waits return. 

When from the war you proudly come. 
With martial mien— our hearts will burn 

The firstin war— to welcome home; 
Go bear the banner to the fore - 

Fan Freedom's fire- avenge the Maine— 
And let our conquering eagle soar, 

Above inhuman, conquered Spain. 



208 IF CHRIST WERE TO COME TO DAMASCUS. 

IF CHRIST WERE TO COME TO 
DAMASCUS. 
If Christ were to come to Damascus— 

Leastwise it seems so to me — 
He would find His disciples numbered 

Less than the sands of the sea; 
He would find in His holy Temple, 

Hearts that were cheerless and cold, 
Bowed down at the shrine of an Idol— 

The Idol of beautiful Gold. 

If Christ were to come to Damascus, 

Methinks I could hear him sa}^: 
"Ye are full of the dead men's bodies, 

Oh bear the corpses away— 
For my Temples are filled with Fashion, 

Your service is given to Baal. 
Ye come unto me empty handed, 

The words of my truth assail. 

'Your closets of prayer are forsaken, 

You pray unto men for meed, 
You pass by a brother in scorning. 

Because of a different creed; 
Your wealth is the fruit of deception. 

Your wages for gilded sin, 
And your words for the blessed Master 

As the tinkling brass's din." 

If Christ were to come to Damascus, 
Oh! What would His people do? 



THE CITY OF FREE TRADE. 209 

They would call on the rocks and moun- 
tains 

To hide Him from their view; 
They would be as the Saul of Tarsus 

In days of the olden town, 
Unmasked in His glorious presence 

Their sins had weighted them down... 

He would find here many a Judas 

Betraying his lust for gold, 
And many the Esau's in waiting. 

Their right to the Kingdom sold, 
But few of the loving Disciples, 

Like those he chose by the sea— 
If Christ were to come to Damascus - 

Leastwise it seems so to me.— , 



THE CITY OF FREE TRADE. 

A pilgrim strolled at the early dawn 

Where a river flowed to the sea. 
To watch the ships when the tide came in, 

And see what their freight might be; 
A noble ship that had braved the storms 

Was anchored outside of the bar. 
While an unknown flag streamed from 
her mast. 

I ntouclied by the trace of a star. 

Near by the bluff was the ruins old 
Where a bustling city had stood. 



210 THE CITY OF FREE TRADE. 

Where wealth was mined from under her 
hills 
And was wrought from the wayside 
wood ; 
But the anvil was gone from the block,— 

And the wheel of the mill was still,— 
The tenement rows were teuantless, 
In that city under the hill. 

Tliere were signs of better days gone by— - 

A church with a toppling tower, 
That stood a sentinel of the dead 

In the gleam of that morning hour; 
And blackened timbers of years agone 

Were casting their shadows of gloom, 
Tlie pall of death,— on forsaken streets 

That were huslied as the voiceless tomb. 

And fields untilled on the hillsides stood, 

With their waste of briar and thorn, 
Tliat once were the fields of nodding 
plumes 

Witli their bountiful wealth of corn; 
The roadway to the city was lost, 

And the fall of the foot unheard, 
The only sound on the misty air 

Was the pines that the sea breeze stirred. 

Tlie tide came in, and the ship rode in, 
Well freighted from over the sea, 

With the wares tliat pauper labor wrought 
hi a land where her ports are free; 



HAVE MOVED AWAY. 211 

Her hold was filled with iron and steel 

To an inland city consigned, 
That stood in the shades of towering hills 

That were teeming with wealth iin- 
mined. 

The pilgrim asked of the mate on board, 

As she passed by a ruined mill, 
"What plague has smitten tlie people here 

In this city under the hill?" 
And the mate replied, with haughty priae, 

To the question the pilgrim made, 
That the plague that laid the city low 

Was the pestilence of Free Trade. 



HAVE MOVED AWAY. 

The songs of yesterday 1 sang are strange- 
ly out of tune, 
The waking song notes of a bird late 
in the afternoon. 
The twinkling diamonds of the night the 
the sunshine brushed away— 
The songs that made my soul rejoice, 
the songs of yesterday ; 

The sports I loved have lost their charm, 
the games they weary me 
Save in a dreamy mood sometimes, 
when I in fancy see 



212 THE HAUNTED HOUSE OF VVESTVILLE TOWN. 

A child of happy school boy days upon 
the lawn at play, 
And I the lad just in my teens— that 
was my yesterday. 

The songs are just the same as then,their 
music just as sweet, 
The boy upon the schocd house green 
has footsteps just as fleet, 
But then somehow unknown to me from 
such I moved away, 
And vacant is the house wherein I lived 
my yesterday. 



THE HAUiNTED HOUSE OF WEST- 
VILLE TOWN. 

Westville town to the westward lay - 

Looking down from Damascus town — 
Just two miles, by the traveled way; 
It's only a wreck of itself today- 
Streets— if any were lain are lost; 
Only those of the roads that crossed 
?'ach other at right angles bear 
Any trace of a village there; 
Brick and stone, a walled up well, 
Sapless trees with their spine and liuib. 
Old redsand stone mossed and dim, 
Mark the spot where the ruins fell. 



THE HAUNTED HOUSE OF WESTVILLE TOWN. 218 

What is tlie tragic tale they tell— 
And the vStory told is true I wot— 
Of Westville town and what befell 
The haunted house of the tavern lot? 
On the fated lot a tavern stood, 
With rustic stoop of tulip wood, 
With columns twined by a trumpet vine, 
Where the humming bird and moth 

woukl dme; 
Where travelers oft o;i a weary jog 
Would rest awhile and would sip their 

grog; 
Where hawkers came with their liulkj 

packs— 
Of the wares of trade upon their backs— 
To sit in the cool, inviting shade, 
And rest an hour from the tricks of trade 

Who kept the place? We need not say; 

We only tell about a day— 

A sultry August eventide— 

When children on the brown road-way 

Were tossing dust in childish play 

On evening winds to ride; 

When in their midst a snarling hound, 

With foaming mouth, with leap and 

bound. 
With rabies mad was seen to dash, — 

Unheeding calls and cries around,— 
And with his venomed fangs to gash 

Infusing virus with each wound ; 
Two sisters there of likened height— 



214 THE HAUNTED HOUSE OF WESTVILLE TOWN. 

Two of the group in the dust at play- 
Felt the sting of his mach^ened bite; 
As the rabid dog rushed on his way. 

"What to do witli the house, you say, 
With the haunted house of Westville 

town?" 
Listen! sir, till I have my say, 
And tell the tale that is handed down. 

Only a wound in the slender limb— 

A livid wound, where the brute had 

clutched 
His venomed fangs, and a vein had 

touched— 
Till the crimson trickled after him 
And the cry of "mad" had cleaved the air: 
And tlie villagers in dread affriglit 
Ran to and fro in their wild despair 
For tlie healing "madstone" for the bite; 
But none was there; and the victims lay 
Like vipers shunned in a bramble lair 
With tlie aspic juice to slay th^ prey 
That would risk a life in passing there; 
And watchers stood with bated breath— 
At doors ajar of the fated cell — 
To heed the throes of the coming death 
Which the sparkling water would foretell. 
On the tavern lot, the clamoring throng. 
Forgot their grog, and the ribald song,. 
As a witch came deftly down, to tell 



THE HAUNTED HOUSE OF WESTVILLE TOWN. 21b 

Of the room above, and a mimic yell, • 
She hearrt from the lips of a victim fall 
Like baying hounds, to the huntsman's 

call. 
Then came the tales that were slied with 

cries 
Of likened ones which had rent the skies 
As death came on; "Of the horrid glare 
That flashed from eyes of a demon there' 
Of the baneful tooth and poisoned nail. 
The foe and friend would alike assail," 
And the frenzied mob in a reckless way 
Pressed to the room where the children 

lay,— 
And a grief-crazed mother led the way; 
With a ruthless grasp, they caught the 

spread 
And tossed them on to a feathery bed— 
Despite the pleas and the cries and groans. 
The bitter wails, and the sobbing moans 
Of the innocents in prayerful tones— 
Another likened over them spread 
And firmly held, till their cries were dead; 
And the smothered children side by side 
In the horrors or such death had died. 

And a spectral fright would nightly 

ride- - 
On milky steed in the murky gloom- 
To haunt the house where the children 

died. 



216 A PHANTOM. 

And the children call into his room; 
He would bid them moan, and groan, and 

cry, 
Till the glaring walls returned a sigh, 
And the sleepers in tlie house awoke 
To swear to tlie voice of children near 
They heard in the prayerful tones invoke 
The hands to stay, that were crazed by 
fear. 
It drove from the tavern lot each guest- 
Till it vacant stood by the village 
square— 
And the village went to its final rest - 
Bnt the spectral fright would linger 
there. 

That is that tale and the story's true— 
Of the haunted house of Westville town; 

Of the murdered babes, the rabble slew, 
And the nighly ghost that rode to town. 



A PHANTOM. 

I stood beside a liver. 

Of a river deep and wide. 
The stream was full of driftwood, 

Borne to the ocean tide. 
And in that turgid current — 

Stemming its wliirland flow — 
I saw the forms of the human 

In numbers I could not know. 



A PHANTO]\fI. 217 

Many I saw in peril 

Wending their way alone, 
The (lancing drift about them 

To music —the breakers' moan; 
Ever anon a faint one, 

\A'eary of breasting tlie wave. 
Grappled a wrecker at passing 

And rode to an ocean grave. 

Under the crest of foaming, 

lender the quivering spray, 
The danger rocks in ambush 

Were waiting along the way. 
Many the sturdy rowers 

Unharmed by the fettered main. 
Were wrecked by the foe in hiding 

And never were seen again. 

But few could stem the current 

In its threaded narrow course, 
And few had reached the haven 

Which lay at the river's source. 
Many along its borders 

Rough and rocky and steep, 
Tried to climb from the waters 

To fall below in the deep. 

We all are on this river; 

Its name— "The river of life--" 
We're voyaging mid the breakers 

With which the river is rife; 



218 THE DAY HE WENT TO WOGGLES WOODS 

The seen and unseen dangers 
To battle as we plunge in — 

The rocks and flowing wreckers- 
Are the known and unknown sin. 



THE DAY WE WENT TO WOGGLES 
WOOD. 

You oughter seen a merry sciuad 

We had one day in Woggles wood, 
When every laddie of the hod 

Come over witli his ladyliood; 
A pipe within his molars set 

Each trowers leg above his shoe, 
A waistcoat with apartments let 

For whiskey and terbacker too. 

And they were in a merry mood 

Each feHow liad a goodly jag 
Before he went to Woggles wood 

To make him quick to chew the rag. 
Tom Slicer he was in tlie trim 

To have a swipe at Bill McCue, 
And Bill was laying round for liim 

To try and close his peepers too. 

And then you ought to see tlie feast 
We liad tliat (hiy in Woggles wood 

When every fellow big and least 
Just eat potatoes all he could. 



THE DAY HE WENT TO WOGOLES WOODS. 219 

We had potatoes— boiled and roast— 

Potato sal id,— mashed and fried- 
Potato chips— potato toast— 

And coffee of potatoes dried. 
We had potatoes. 

The crowd that went 
Along with me to VVoggles wood 

Were sinners and the penitent 
Who on an equal footing stood. 

The bachelor and widower 
The blooming maid and widow, too. 

The banker and the scavenger 
The gentile and the swarthey Jew 

Were in the crowd. 

And there I see 
A dutchman in a roundabout 

With pipe a resting on his knee- 
He had to light to put it out— 

A Frenchman with a big goatee 
A nigger with an eye put out 

A black eyed little goddessee 
Whose weakness was, not being stout 

And love of me. 

The turkey stood 
With graceful beard upon his chin 

Or strutted round in Woggles wood 
And all the time a gobblin': 

His tail he opened like a fan 



220 THE THRESH IN(} DAY. 

His face was red clear to his ears 
He dropped his wings and then began 

To evolute like volunteers — 
The turkey did. 

Let me relate — 
At the potato festival 

The black eyed maiden up to date 
Withall a very comely gal 

Witli winsome ways she made a pass 
In silent language understood 

And fettered my poor heart alas 
The day we went to Woggles's wood 

To festival. 

No more you see 
The turkey in his pomp arrayed 

He died a corpse for her and me 
When I was married to the maid, 

Whose wiley glances stole away 
A heart that was not over good 

The time we met potato day 
When we were down at Woggles wood. 



THE THRESHING DAY. 

I never will forget the threshing day! 

It used to come but once a year 
Just when the mows were filled with hay, 

And seeding time was drawing near. 



THE THRESHING DAY. 221 

For days before ma used to bake 

And make a heap of pies and cake, 
And scrub and rinse the kitchen floor, 

A.nd black the stove and scour the tin, 
And wipe the knob of every door 

Where any person wouhl come in, 
She nearly worked herself to death 

To have the dinner smoking hot, 
And worked till nearly out of breath 

To have the supper in the pot. 
And such a meal as she would set 

I tell you now, we seldom get. 

Oft times the threshers came the night.before 

In grim and greasy looking plight. 
Three men— eight horses — sometimes more— 

For us to put away for night. 
I never got to bed till ten 

And tlien in cot upon the floor 
I lay awake to hear the men 

In intermitting voices snore. 
At peep of day I'd hear Pa say— 

" Come son, get up and haste away 
And bring the cows and do the chores 

Before the men get out of doors." 
They soon were up; it took an hour 

For them to fix and set the power. 
And oil the shafts of the machine, 

Put on the belts, and tighten straps, 
And fix the riddles and the screen 

And tease us little bashful chaps, 
Before Ma rang the breakfast call — 

The music I loved best of all. 



222 THE THRESHING DAY. 

A jolly set soon gathered at the barn 

Of neighbors near on every hand, 
Who joked or told a doubtful yarn, 

Of things I eoukl not understand. 
The horses then were put in place 

A perfect circle for to track. 
And started with uneven pace 

Incited by the driver's smack! 
Each man as if by instinct taught 

Without a word or wave of hands 
Went moping to the place he sought 

From piling straw to cutting bands! 
Within a corner where the coats 

And other traps were piled or thrown. 
Was cider for the dusty throats 

Whose age was never asked or known; 
And oft I've spen a tiring lad 
By many quaffs made reeling glad, 
And oft have had suspicions lurk 
That drinks more strong helped in the work 

And when the work was fully under way, 

A cloud of dust was rising high 
And floated up like silvery spray 

To dim tlie azure of the sky— 
The driver's lash— his urging tones— 

The haze of dust— the noise -the hum- 
Like desert winds that often moans 

Before the storms behind them come^ 
Were blended all r.o serve the day 

When full fruition from the fields 



THE THRESHING DAY. 223 

Of beaten grain was put away 

The recompense that labor yields. 
All (lay the ceaseless hum went on — 

All (lay beneath the lash's smack 
The panting steeds had patient gone 

Around the disc with furrowed track; 
All day until the shouts of morn 

In words of some inspiring tune 
Were hollow words if they were borne 

Upon the winds of afternoon. 
All day until the work was o'er 
The men emerge from out the door 
With wheezing breath, and matted hair, 
Made redolent by rag weed there. 
With fevered brain the buzzing sound 
Of wheels within their head went round 
And though the day and work were o'er 
There still remained the sickening roar. 

At supper now each man had found his place; 

The sparkle of each eye was dim 
A thankless heart would say the grace 

As thankless those surrounding him. 
They did not talk as glibly then 

Nor spin the yarns of early morn 
But hung their heads as droopy when 

The Simoon strikes the fated corn; 
And then they scattering -homeward went 

The threshers on their cycled path 
Procursors of some merriment 

Likewise the harbingers of wrath. 



2-24 THE THRESHING DAY. 

That night my dust infected brain 

Was tortured by the imps who creep 
Along the way where sleep is slain 

To mock tlie ^ery name of sleep. 
All night the dropping sheaves rebound 

All night the buzz, and hum, and roar^ 
All night themastes wheel went round 

As it had done the day before; 
It buried me— it crushed my bones, 

The whole machine was chasing me 
As I awoke with fearful groans 

As dying in such agony. 

Such are the ways— the fast receding ways 

Of boyhood which the man will scan 
Half living in— the olden days 

Before the gray haired man began; 
I seem to live them o'er tonight 

As merry children romp my room 
And help to make my burden light 

And lend a halo to my gloom. 
Beside the chimney place I sit 

And dozing dream the hours away 
As crowding visions swiftly flit 

The pliantoms of my yesterday 
Wherein the mirrored past I see 

The mirage of a narrow stream 
That flows from days of use to be 

Into the shadow of mv dream. 



THE SUICIDE. 225 

THE SUICIDE. 

Still the morning— and the hoar frost lay Upon thie 

meadow brown, 
Like a wreath of beaded jewels for a border of the town. 
When the factory whistle sounded in a strange unused 

to hour 
As a demon had unloosed it to proclaim his coming 

power, 
And it fell upon the sleepers of the quaint old Quaker 

town, 
As the voice of one affrighted when disaster settles down. 

Still the morning -save the whistle, not a voice or note 
was heard. 

Not a withered grass blade rustled, nor tlie twitter of a 
bird 

Still— until the quickened faces of the slumber-broken 
man 

In a scanty night apparel hasty to the factory ran. 

And his wild eyes peeringwhither imp or sprite was hold- 
ing sway 

When the whistle broke the stillness where the sleeping 
shuttles lay. 

Still the hour— until the watchman heard, the tale of 

bitter tears 
From a wife, and noble daughter budding into woman's 

years 

That a husband and a father from the one he loved had 

flown 
Filled with worries that pursued him till with reason 

overthrown 



22») THE SUICIDE. 

At the early dawn of evening, witli no wife to intercept 
And with death for a companion— deftly from the house- 
hold crept. 

Still tlie morning— till the wakened, every woman, every 

man, 
Eageif for the news to scatter, hasty to their neighbor ran 
And in bated breath they faltered to unfold the anxious 

fears 
Of the wife and of the daughter in their tell-tale flood 

of tears, 
That a tragedy was waiting the unfolding t(mch of day 
i'o reveal it in its horror when the night was pushed 

away. 

Oft he frowned upon the cannon, in the liard contested 

fray 
When the wounded fell around him and the corpses 

thickly lay 
Worn the shouldei- straps of Colonel, and in thickest of 

the fight 
Charged tlie rebels with a valor worthy of a Spanish 

knight, 
Sat in halls of legislation, clothed in mantels honor gave 
Keck(mefl no man more than equal, and to no man was a 

slave. 

Still the whistle sounded shrilly on that keen Novem- 
ber air 

And the country pe(>ple flocking came from alm<>st 
everywhere, 



THE SUICIDE. 227 

And a look of consternation seized upon them one and 
all 

As they listened to the story of the startling morning 
call; 

And in groups or little huddles idly they discussed the 
plan 

To explore the mines and mangers to disclose the miss- 
ing man. 

In the graveyard on the hill slope— on a stafE his ker- 
chief tied 
A.S a beacon for the searchers, lay a ghastly suicide; 
For a pillow he had chosen, just a mound of clay that 

rose 
As a grassy little hillock where his father's bones repose, 
And enwrapt in ashen pallor — with despair upon his face 
Had a battle hero fallen, in his final resting place. 

And the whistle after sounding- in the still and morn- 
ing air 

Seemed to breath the doleful tidings and forebodings of 
despair, 

Till the fiery serpent writhing, lapping with a tongue 
of flame 

Swiftly wrapped its coils around it up to where the warn- 
ing came, 

And amid the crash of timbers, eager clutched and seized 
for prey 

Passed the whistle and the factory to their final pass 
away. 



228 JEALOUSY. 

JEALOUSY. 

There is a cousin what I've got 

Ilis name is Ebenezer 
J. Sattiswait— as queer a duck 

As ever eat the greaser, 
An' he 
An' me 
Are jes alike about a gal — 

I'll tell it if I can— 
We both have got affections sot 

On Doolin's, Mary Ann. 

He wears his trousers in his boots 

An' scragly chin of beard, 
With taller on liis hair in chunks 

An' on his boots is smeared, 
An' he 
Like me 
Ain't larned in modern etiket 

Or he I don't believe 
'Cause when he's with that gal he blows 

His'nose upon his sleeve. 

She ain't no great sites any way 

She's freckled, tall and slim. 
An' has red hair— an' she told me 
She hates the site of him. 
But then 
Jes' when 
She hates his site, is hard to tell— 



JEALOUSY. 22U 

I think she's queer to say — 
'Cause when I'm there an' he cums roun' 
I have to git away. 

I've taken doughnuts by the peck 

An' give to her to eat 
An' every fall— hog killin' time — 

Have tuk her spare rib meat: 
An' she 
Told me, 
Gifts as them mak'er weep for joy — 

To spread 'em 'tween her bread 
Then send me home to dream all night 

About the things she said. 

Las' week we had hog killin' time 

I took some spare ribs down, 
As usual, to the Doolan's home 

As I went into town— 
An' say I 
To day 
As I was goin' down that way, 

I met that ugly man 
A eatin' spare rib sandwiches 

I took to Mary Ann. 



230 HELL. 



HELL. 



Tliere comes to me witli cliilling blast 

Recurring echoes from the past 
To me they are a hell . In tears 

Man wakes to being clothed in fears 
And quits his temple after years 

Clothed as he came— in fears and tears; 
He knows not whence he came nor where 

His great inheritance to share 
For which he lives. He half believes 

The gospel plan to man deceives, 
And Faith and Hope are not the chain 

To lift from Death to Life again. 
Can I believe a place to be 

By faith alone? Or must I see 
And know the end to which I trend 

As withered grass— or else decend 
Into the grave, and through the tomb 

As last year's lily comes to bloom 
From winter's sleep beneath the sod— 

A changed but likeness of my God? 
Hard is the task for me to learn 

What is a Hell; in which to burn 
Inmiortal souls with sin defiled 

Because with God unreconciled 
It seemed a Hell for me to know 

A heart I crushed with stinging blow 
With cruel word or cruel deed 

Until the tear drops inward bleed 
Of those assailed, and with the sting 

To feel the Hell remorse will bring; 



HELL. 

It is a Hell for me to live 

And feast on fatnes?, not to give 
The starving poor aronnd my door 

A morsel from my scanty store. 
I knov^ a bitter Hell -for me— 

A hidebound churchman for to be 
Loud in hisprayers,where words are cheap 

Give one day to the Lord -and keep 
The other six to coquette sin 

And rake almighty dollars in 
From widows and the orphan's store, 

Then blaspheme God, with thanks for 
more. 
Think ye the prayer availeth much 

Or touch the throne of God for such. 
What is a Hell? 'tis better found 

In homes and hearts, than under ground 
In search for lakes of buried glare 

With burning souls in cauldrons there. 
Go find where envy, malice, hate 

Are throned within some reprobate 
Where churches foster sinful pride 

And have a Pastor deified 
Where saints are made from those who 
choose 

To pay for pastor and for pews 
Where those who crush and bruise, can 
feel 

No dint of pity for to heal ; 
Go to— and you will learn it well 

Where these abound, likewise is Hell. 



231 



232 THAT WAS ME. 

THAT WAS ME. 

See a fellow, bare head, ninniiig 

Out among the fallen trees, 
Straw hat in his hand a swinging 

At the routed humble bees, 
See him duck behind the alder, 

Fling his hat as a decoy, 
And the buzzing little soldier 

Charged the hat and left the boy. 
That was me. 

See a fellow in the deadening— 

Hands in pockets walking slow 
Looking for the bluebells hiding; 

Calling "Brindle," "co boss, co.' 
See him cull the richest mandrake, 

Where the lillie laugh to grow, 
Where the whip-poor-will is nesting 

Close beside the brooklets flow. 
That was me. 

See that swimming hole (tut yonder. 

Just beyond that dump of trees; 
Spring-board there for somersaulting, 

Go in swimming when you please. 
See a boy and dug together 

Saunter out^long the lane, 
Where the sciuirrels, red and gray ones. 

Pillage oi the farmers' grain. 
That was me. 



THAT WAS ME. 233 

See him in the literary, 

On the platform to declaim, 
Both hands sticking in his pockets, 

Brow and cheeks alike aflame; 
And when through his recitation. 

Hide his head in fear and shame, 
Looking like old Simple Simon 

When the Pieman asked his name, 
That was me. 

See him making love a little. 

Clumsy in his words and ways, 
And his stammering tongue to falter 

In each eifort of his praise; 
See him later— growing bolder— 

With a heart of swelling pride, 
As he stands before an altar 

Close beside a blushing bride. 
Thai was me. 

See him now— with locks disheveled, 

Wrinkled brow and tawny face- 
Dreaming years of sweetest pleasure 

From the cosy chimney place. 
Now he looks adown the vista 

Of the years so fleetly flown, 
Till he steps upon the threshhold. 

There to know as he is known. 
That is me. 



2;U DAY DREAMS. 

DAY DREAMS. 

I have stood in silence watching 
Waving fiekls of promised grain, 
Where the bob-o-link in hiding, 
In some covert nook abiding, 
Warbled forth his sweetest strain, 

Soul inspiring; 

Never tiring; 
That it made me young again. 

By the brook in yonder meadow 

I have seen the lillies grow. 

From their branches young and slender 

Open buds in gorgeous splendor 

Rainbow-tinted colors blow. 

That I ponder. 

Rapt in wonder. 
Who can paint the lily so? 

I have watched the sunset fading 
Into twilight's deepening gray, 
When the stars would come from cover 
Softly like some timid lover. 
Peering where his sweetheart lay— 

Vigils keeping 

O'er the sleeping, 
Watching for the coming day, 

I have watched a broken sunbeam 
Struggling through a rifted cloud. 
Where the lightnings, goring, gashing. 



THE RETURN OF OUR VOLUNTEERS. 235 

Pattering rain and thunders crashing. 
Wrapt the world in pall and shroud. 

But the broken 

Beam had spoken 
By the rainbow in the cloud. 

I have stood beside the portals 
Where the dead sepulcher'd lay, 
Where to dust the dust was given 
And the soul vouchsafed to heaven 
From its homeless house of clay. 

But I query 

Till I weary 
Will that sleeper rise some day? 

I have heard the songs of rapture 
Welling from the spirits free 
As they gaze across the River 
To the land of the Forever 
Circled by the Crystal Sea. 

Are they real 

Or ideal? 
Is the mystery to me. 



THE RETURN OF OUR VOLUN- 
TEERS. 

Welcome— glad welcome— to the boys, 
Returning in their faded blue, 

A nation stands with open arms 
And laurel wreaths in wait for vou. 



236 THE RETURN OF OUR VOLUNTEERS. 

The pine is singing to tlie hills— 
The sea gull telling to the sea— 

That conquering lieroes liomeward come 
And bear their palms of victory. 

Their ranks are thinned— their brows are 
brown, 

Their forms enfeebled by the chase, 
And tropic suns have left the mark 

Of Santiago on their face. 
Some bear the wounds of Mauser guns, 

Some bear the marks of yeUow jack, 
And some, alas I relentless foes 

Will never let us welcome back. 

A nation weeps for those who fell 

Along the wayside by disease, 
A nation weeps for those who fell 

By bullets from across the seas. 
A nation weeps, — and every heart 

Uprears a tribute to their name. 
But higher is their glory writ 

On rolls of martyrdom and fame. 

Welcome— brave boys, '-Old Glory" waves 

Above the fallen Spanish rag. 
The emblem of a tyrant's grave, 

But better still— as Freedom's flag! 
To you— the honor for the dead. 

To you— a nation's glad acclaim. 
To you— we bow our supplicant knees 

And offer homage to your name. 



THE AUTOMOBILE. 237 

To you— belongs the hero's crown, 

To yon— the succor of our hand, 
To you— the tribute woven song. 

To you the fatness of the land. 
We wept in soirow as you went— 

And parting always giveth pain- 
But oh how sweet for joy to weep, 

And weeping, welcome home again. 



THE AUTOMOBILE. 

Seen a critter tother mornin' comin* 

down the road. I swow 
Didn't have no hitchin' to it; neither boss 

nor mule nor cow; 
Durndes' thing I ever looked at cum a 

chuggin' wabblin' down 
Pas' the ole maids up by Foggses— they 

live 1 urthes' up in town— 
Seemed like somethin' backen kinder, like 

a thing that's in a hurry 
Both ends like (►n the contraption; made 

to imitate a surry 
Gettin'long, its wheels a coglin', like a 

mower when its cuttin' 
An' as fas' as old merino when he's in the 

mood for buttin'. 
Steam a whizzin' from a biler under- 
neath a dudish cushion 



2:% THE AUTOMOBILE. 

With an engine hidden somewhere under 

neatli to do tlie piisliin . 
In it sit a man and woman; holy gravy 

she was frettin'. 
Cause her dress was hangin' out it, an' 

her skirt a gettin' wettiu' 
An' the man he pushed and pulled a— 

pulled a— pushed a— I'm forgettin' 
What he called the thing they turned by, 

on the seat where they were settin' 
But the thing was nearly winded when 

it got up on the level 
Then it started scallahootin' through the 

town to beat the devil 
Everybody stood a gazin' from the porches 

or the cellar 
'Spectin' almost any minute for to hear 

the critter beller 
But it didn't; n > it didn't; but it scared 

tlie dogs and chickens 
An' ole maids, an' guess the widders some 

were scared to beat the dickens 
'Cause they thought that ole Elijah in 

his chariot was neariug 
For to take 'em to the judgment there to 

make their final 'pearing 
An' they hadn't got their fixinsjes aready 

for the takin' 
Of a trip they then was guessin' ole Elijah 

then was niakin' 
An' the hole town jx'ople rested, for a day 

and night t(»gethi'r 
When the critter passed our village in 

the mild October weather. 



HOW TEDDY WON HIS BRIDE. 239 

HOW TEDDY WON HIS BRIDE. 

^'Och! Jamie, look, see now, you lubbering baste, 

Fur sartin and sure a pocket I'm findin', 
Surely me lioldin' will soon be incraste, 

Or else me own eyes are given to blindin'. 
Tread aisely, pard.I'm liftin' a nugget — 

Be me soul! it's heftin' a lialf hundred pound, 
To the mill beyond jist help me to lug it, 

An iligant giutlemin when it is ground." 

"Go way wid ye now— mesilf its inditin' 

A nate little letter to Katie O'Neill. 
She said she would open her heart to me writin' 

Whinever me pockets of gold she could feel. 
And I'm writin' her now, and tellin' her thruly, 

I'm fixin' the day of Teddy's returnin' 
Wid plenty of gold from the gulch of Gooly, 

Me heart for swate Katie already is burnin'. 

"I'm tellin' her, too, of the cottage I'm buyin', 

Along wid the acres for feedin' the cow; 
And Oh! I'm tellin' her, too, I am cryin' 

Jist like a big booby, for axin' her now. 
I know she is thrue, and waitin' for Teddy 

To look in her eyes— in the oceans of blue^ 
And say to her, "Darlint, the priest is a-ready. 

Me coach and me horses is waitin' for you." 

Just then, from the camp of the Lone Star mine, 
^ postman came, ascending the slope. 



240 HOW TEDDY WON HIS BEIDE. 

Along by tlie ledge of bristling pine, 
Knotted and coiled as a seaman's rope; 

Along where the trunks of the trees were blazed, 
And footman's tracks in the shifting sand, 

And the grass where mcmntain goats had grazed 
In the nicks of the rocks for a grasping hand. 

Three years brave Teddy and Jamie had mined 

With baffling hope in the gorge and glen. 
But never till now the fortune to find, 

The bright reward of the mountain men; 
And never a day had a letter came 

To glad or sadden the hearts of two. 
Till the postman calling out Teddy's name, 

Said, "Ted, a letter I have for you." 

Then Teddy opened the letter and read; 

His florid face turned an ashen hue, 
As he shook the locks of his auburn head, 

His great heart wept to their full anew; 
For Katie had written and told him all, 

Told of a lover she found one May, 
As she lightly danced at the Skipper's ball, 

In honoring of her natal day. 

"I have waited long, and have longed in vain 
For your returning to me," she said, 

"And now it is thrilling my heart with pain 
To write you, Teddy, that I have wed. 

No more can I look to the golden west, 
In dreams of future of what may be; 



WHEN I SHALL GO. 241 

I would that me weep in' was on your breast. 
Your arms were the prison doors to me ; 

"And I were a bird in your cage shut iff. 

Or from the one I am in were free 
To live in your love as I once have been, 

To watch for your coming home to me; 
Alas for such dreams -they are folly sown 

To reap a harvest of vain regret, 
For, Teddy, you never can be me own, 

Too late— forever— your love— me pet." 

Three days tliereafter at dawn of the day, 

A funeral cavalcade swept down 
From the mists of the mountains, bare and gray. 

Threading the gulch to the miners' town; 
And Teddy had taken his last long ride, 

Had lain him down in his last long sleep, 
To dream of the nugget that won his bride 

From the mountain ledge so rough and steep. 



WHEN I SHALL GO. 

Some day these fields where I have labored long. 
Have patient toiled from dawn to set of sun. 

Will miss my coming; and the busy throng 
Will scarce imiuire whose sands of life are 
run. 



242 WHEN I SHALL GO. 

Tlie little rill— where oft upon its bank 
I prostrate lay beneatli the willow near, 

And of its laughing waters freely drank 
Will lose its rii)pling music to my ear. 

The orchard with its sweep of apple trees, 
Of pippins and tlie russet— gold and brown — 

Wliose fragrant sweetness wooed the droning 
bees 
A-ud truant urchins from the nearby town, 

Together with the corridor that leads 
'Neath arching elms -the planting of my 

liands— 
To shailes of stately'oaks and fertile meads — 
"Some day will learn a stranger lonls the 

lands. 

Methinks the robin, who in early spring 
So oft has nested on the cedar limb- 
Will miss me most, when he shall sweetly sing 
And Ihids his listener gone away from him. 

My faithful dog who ne'er betrayed a trust, 
Nor aught complained of poor or meager food 

Who licked my hand to thank me for a crust 
Will miss me in his romps within the wood. 

My children, too, will long for my return, 
Will weep beside my coffin and my bier, 

And feel the bitter pangs of grief to burn 
That mark affection with a scalding tear— 



THE NEW year's WAIL. 243 

But then the world— the universe of men 
With busy care, will never cease to know 

I had a being; never will they know 
Of my demise, nor miss me when I go. 



THE NEW YEARNS WAIL. 
Thousands of sentinels — lifting like gravestones 

Sadly and gloomily over the dead, — 
Stand the grim smokestacks of furnace and fac- 
tory, 
Struck by some malady direful and dread. 

Hushed is tlie sound of the shrill screaming 
whistle ; 
Silent the footfall of laborers' tread; 
Stilled is the pulse of the great throbbing 
engine: 
Ended the work of the shuttle and thread. 

Tints of the morning by steam clouds uniif ted ; 

Echoing song notes of labor unsung; 
Mute as the waste of the wide trackless ocean, 

Forges where anvil and hammer have rung. 

Titans of toil in the cities are marching. 
Gaunt wolves are baying right close to their 
heel. 
Thin blood of poverty through their veins cours- 
ing 
The fawning of famine already they feel. 



244 REFLECTED. 

Faded old stockings of children are hanging. 
Untouched by old "Santa," upon the dim wall. 

The pitiful pleadings breaking some heart 
strings 
Unable to answer their eloquent call. 

Too proud for the beggar— to honest for robber — 
The prayer of the millions float up from our 
land 

To the throne of the great Omnipotent giver, 
To wave o'er our valleys sweet Charity's hand. 

Thus with the architect, artisan, laborer. 
The brawny mechanic, the skillful of trade, 

Who are stricken by want— the cruel invader, 
Who levies a tribute, that always is paid, 

Not so with the farmer— his barns o'erflowing, 
His garners well filled to the bursting of door. 

And the Master calling— plaintively calling — 
"He lends to the Lord, who gives to the poor." 



REFLECTED. 

Two boys were at play 

In a garden one day— 

They were wee little toddlers breaking their 

words — 

One revelled in wealth. 

And the other in health 

And their twaddle rang out like the twitter of 
birds. 



REFLECTED. 245 

**Oor face is all black 

An' oose holes in oor back," 
And a tiny white finger poked in at a rent 

Where threads of a patch 

Had failed in their catch. 
In a faded old garment all tattered and spent. 

"An' muzzer won't 'low 

Me to play wid oo now, 
Cause slie sez oo is niissin but ragged and pore, 

An' nurse she will turn, 

An' make 'oo go home, 
An' 'oo can't play wid me in ze garden no 
more." 

The little one poor 

^Vent back to his door, 
With a tear in his eye and a heart that was sad 

With a poisonous dart 

Sinking deep in his heart, 
And with only the sunshine around to be glad. 

How often we frown 

On the poor and cast down, 
And long to recall the words that have fled, 

Which children at play 

Have sped on the way 
Reflecting the words that a mother had said. 



246 THE HOMECOMING. 

THE HCMECOMINa 

Size 'em up'pardner jes any way you can, 
For Tobias an' Elias, as tliey went away in May— 
Tobias was the older one an' ought ter be a man— 
OfiEen wisht[afterwards, they never went away. 

'Bias he were freckled — with hair the turn o' red 
'Lias he wer fairer, but his health was ratlier pore, 
Can't forgit the mornin' an' tlie latest words they sed 
Me a wavin' at 'em with a hankacheef ashore. 

Seed the ship agoin' and agoin' farder out 
An' me astandin' gazin' till I could'nt stand no more 
All the people roun* me sayin' "What you cryin' 'bout?". 
An' all as I could tell 'em were— a pintin, from the shore 

Offen got some letters what I got the girls to read — 
Mandy an' Miss Rosy— the girls what Phillip took — 
Tellin' of their doins', and lots of things they seed 
Never seed a pictur of, in any pictur book. 

Mandy she was readin' one to me tl\e tother day — 
All of a sudden she quit areadin' ioud— 
Then took a hankaclieef an' wipe a tear away, 
Right afore all of us, readin' in the crowd. 

Then she call Rosy out an' both begin ter cry— 
Me sittin' knittin' there narrowin' of a toe— 
Could'nt for to save me keep my eyes akeepin' dry 
Wonderin' all the time, I did, at 'em actin' so 



SCARECROWS. 247 

Perty soon Mandy sez— "Boys is comin' back'' 
Then she turned away till I could'nt see her eye 
Stood there an' never budged a peg from outer track 
Me a kinder nervous like, breakin' in a cry. 

'Lias he had written to us folks he lef behind 
Breakin' some awful news, kinder seemed to me 
Kinder a gittin' me— prepairin' of me mind — 
Ter know of the home comin', from across the sea. 

Then Mandy cum clos' an' sit aside o' me 
Strokes back the grey hair comin' in my liead. 
Tole me both boys was comin' cross the sea 
'Lias in the cabin deck— but 'Bias— with the dead. 



SCARECROWS. 

1 saw a black crow that an old farmer shot — 
The time it was Spring, when the corn in the lot 
Was lifting its head as a spire from the turf 
Or a mast of a bark as it rose from the serf — 
The crow I opine he was guilty of theft 
In taking some corn that tlie farmer had left 
Uncovered -or else he perchance may have been 
Engaged in the pillage of corn that was green 
Not thinking the farmer he owned the domain 
Or had gotten a patent from God on the grain. 
But the old farmer saw him in trespass, he said, 
And he loaded his gun and he shot the crow dead 
And chuckled with glee as he ran to the spot 



248 SCARECROWS. 

And lie liauirui^red the bird that already was shot; 
His feet lie then tied with some thews and a thorn 
To a cr(>ss he now raised on the spot in the C(>rn 
As a warning: to crows that invaded his fields 
Of the fate that awaited the fellow who steals; 
The warning was heeded; from mornins? till night 
The sky it was darkened by crows in their flight 
That came from the uttermost regions to see 
Themselves as they swung in the black effigy 
They cawed and they cawed but they would not alight 
They came to the farmer in night-mares of night, 
In his dream they were horses appalling and black 
And drawing black hearses with dead on their rack; 
The air of his chamber in darkness was stirred 
By the flapidng of wings that the sleeper had heard 
Bat could not resist— and his gasping for breath 
In the fear of the plutons akin was to deatli; 
The bugs and the slugs as they peeped from their lair 
Beheld their worst enemy dangling in air 
And boldly emerged from their cells of retreat 
Without fear in a search for some dainties to eat 
The cut worm cut down, and the grub he devoured 
And the stag beetle ate till his stomach had soured 
And the moth and the miller they rolled their cocoim. 
When the corn had peeped through by the light of the 

moon. 
When August came round not a tassel was born 
To tell that the field had been planted to corn. 
And the crop of the acres so guardpd with care 
Was a cross with a skeleton crow in the air. 



RETROSPECTION. 249 

RETROSPECTION. 

(Read at the Reunion of Students of Damas- 
cus Academy. ) 

To tangled meadows where brambles grew 
And ivy tendrils entwined the bowers 

Where the sunset rays of gold gleamed through 
To the festooned home of the wildwood flowers 

The Athenian came— his builders stood 
On the wild waste fields in solitude. 

■"My younger brother and I"— he said 

"Will plant the rose on this cumbered ground 

Two lives to this chosen spot we wed" 
So saying— he meted out the bound 

And said to the builders— "work !— and when 
Your work is done— I will come again." 

His pallid face grew grave as he spoke 
Of his blissful day dream,long ago — 

When out of the forest fettered oak 
His Temple of learning would rise and grow 

And branching out like the forest grim 
Live ever on as a shrine for him. 

Like some enchantress of magic spell 
Did he come to builders gathered there 

They wove a woof from his words so well 
That he soon beheld his answered prayer 

And the structure grew— till the belfry din 
Was calling the longing learner in. 



250 RETROSPECTION. 

'Twas early morn— in the new made hall 
When a consecration prayer was heard 

From lips of the elder brother fall 
Witli blissful cadence and chosen word 

That God wonkl bless— and tlie Temple grow 
Fulfilling the day dream long ago. 

Ever thereafter, with morning came 
From willing lips to the Unseen One 

An earnest prayer in the Master's name 
To bless the work of the (hiy begun 

To fill with wisdom and guide the hand 
Of the chosen workmen in command. 

The fair haired maid with hazel eyes 
And the sunbrowned boy witli raven hair. 

Gazed on each other in glad surprise 
When they met the young Athenians there. 

And (ait of the wild waste— builders made 
The Campus grounds where the truants played. 

Then Cupid came with the boy and maid, 
And love's young dream made a rapid pace 

When youth and beauty together strayed 
To gather fiowers from tlieir hiding place, 

And weave a garland to deck the brow 
Of the fair young forms enraptured now. 

From some distant Troy, a Helen came 

Who silently stole a heart away, 
And blushed at the mention of the name 

Of one she won in an earlier day 
When the rustic romps of childish glee 

Had led them into captivity. 



EETROSPECTION. 251 

Atalanta like her suitors ran, 

The course of love for tlie fated pair 
The younger of Athens led the van 

To the (lark eyed maid in waiting there,— 
But his nuQibered day soon sank apace, 

And love's first dream, was in death's embrace 

But others came to this shrine with looks 
That froze to a chill each thought of bliss 

Whose minds were buried in classic books 
And little cared for a world like this, 

Whose star arose in the distance dim — 
A stranger to love's fair seraphim. 

To the westward,— glancing down the slope 
The village of Churches nestled nigh, 

Firm rooted and grounded in the hope 
That a prayer, would touch the throne on high 

And that words, and works would meet reward. 
By the faithful followers, from his Lord. 

One day the Elders of Quaker birth 

Sat solemnly brooding over cares 
And weighing the Temple of learning's worth 

Decided— the wheat was sown with tares 
And their conscience grieved-and so they prayed 

That the formal rites each morn be staid. 

And reasoned well— for the Wise One said 

A child will grow in the manner trained 
Our creed is such by which we are led 



252 RETROSPECTION. 

That the prayer we make must be constrained 
No form— nor season— nor place nor when 
Was namert by God as a rule for men — 

And so the council of Elderhood 

Young Athens doomed -and with measured 
tread 
Surveyed the site where the pillar stood 

And with lieavy burdened hearts they said 
We will first destroy— lay waste and then 

Like the fabled Phoenix— come again? 

Feigning love's labor— they acted well 

With their apt chose words to quite pursuade 

By reason or threat— we cannot tell 
That the Church decreed herself arrayed 

Against all the formal rites— and so 
Her words, the Temple could never know. 

Like the seige of city well began 
Beseiged and beseigers undismayed 

Surveyed the field- and viewed the plan 
Well knowing the part each other played 

But a flag of truce went up — they tell 
On her own made terms — young Athens fell. 

Downcast from the seat of learning came 
The boy and maid with their grief akin 

Whose milestones passed on the road to fame 
Were the cherished hope of what had been 

And whose star of hope uprising high 
Was fading out in a^misty sky. 



EETROSPECTION. 253 

Three years went by as a summer's dream 
Since builders stood on the cumbered spot 

And saw a phantom of beauty gleam 
With a ravished love thats unforgot 

Now wasted and faded in despair 
And a new found face— in ruling there. 

Our dreams were then of the goal of fame 
Of Council Chambers and Halls of State 

By the fickle star we read our name 
On parchment rolls of the Nations great 

And we held our Court with glittering glare 
With none but the titled— honored there. 

And Ambition buoyed us on her crest 

To the tinkling music honor made 
And moved the heart in our youthful breast 

To ride above where the breakers laid, 
And we saw no mountains in the way 

In our fairy day-dream of that day. 

What might have been— in the deep unknown 
Our star of hope, in its gloom went down 

The sounding titles— alas — have flown 
And we drape ourselves in ashen gown 

As we think of life— our purpose then 
Of what we are -and— might have been. 

But changes come— and the formal prayer 

By the elderhood so long bemoaned 
Is counselled now— and admonished — where 



254 RETROSPECTION. 

Contending Athens liad been dethroned 
And from the altar of former foes 
The incense prayer of the Quaker rose. 

Little the saints of the Church foretold 
Little they knew of her rapid pace 

Little they thought from the Cliurcli's fold 
Would some day — as a means of grace 

Be preached as their creed— with jealous care 
The stated seasons and times of prayer. 

But linked by ties of the strongest binds 
The Church and Temple long years had stood 

Or moved to the march of master minds 
Who gathered both as their foster brood 

Leading them out of the wilderness way 
A fire by night, and a cloud by day. 

Through troubled waters both high and deep 
And a stranded liope to anchor by 

On the road where foemeii never sleep 
And the wreckers watch with a vicious eye 

To the throes of death— unseen — unknown 
Till ruin the Temple— claimed her own. 

But Phoenix like from the ashes came 
An heir of beauty that lives today— 

Mantled with fortune and sired by fame 
Her footsteps fall -in the good old way 

And the wholesome laws her rulers made 

Are the same as when young Athen^i prayed. 



RETROSPECTION. 255 

And sweetly floats on the morning air 
The ringing notes of the old-timed bell 

And the boys and maidens gathered there 
In the Classic halls of which we tell 

Are the children of the boy and maid 
Who years before at the Temple played. 

But ah— how often do we recall 
As a summer's dream of pure delight 

The formal prayer— the new made hall— 
The deep-toned bell, in the shades of night 

And close our eyes to the pictured scene 
As we vainly think— what might have been. 

Full many a league has grown between 

The scattered cohorts of their realm 
Since the eyes bedimmed beheld the scene 

When fair young Athens loosed the helm 
And floated out on an unknown sea 

Their faithful charge— to fates decree. 

It is twenty years since then, nay more 
When we call the roll— responses come 

Like receding echoes from the shore 
Of the voyager returning home 

And we strain the eye - and the features scan 
Of the sun-brown boy— a gray haired man. 

From gilded hall— to the humble cot 

From banquet feast— to the meager fare 
From high in life to the common lot 



25<) RETROSPECTION. 

From festal board to the house of prayer 
We call— and the answers one by one 
Returning come— from the sire and son. 

The brothers call, but we call in vain 
And breathless wait— in the silence deep 

One answers- the other call again— 
In the voiceless tomb in last long sleep 

With gathered sheaves— entwined with prayer 
The younger brother is waiting there. 

And the Elders have gone, one by one 
Close down to the river's brink they came 

Decrepid with age— a course well run 
When tliey heard the mention of their name 

And a pale-faced rider neaied their door 
And calling them — they were seen no more. 

Call on— from the roll of thirty years 

In the faded past almost forgot 
Call on— and mark witli unbidden tears 

The many called who will answer not 
Whose memory comes to us today 

As the weary, resting by the way. 

Call on;— On Atlanta's fertile plain 

And on Chattanooga's iron wall 
On the southern hilltops thick with slain 

Are sleeping the unknown to yonr call 
Full ripe in lionor— full known to fame 

Their briglit young lives— when the reaper 
came. 



FROM THE FRONT. 25 

In their winding sheet of stripes and stars 

Xo sullen roar of the cannons come 
Xo taunting rebels with stars and bars 

Are crossing the threshhold of their home 
And they hear no storms— no heavy tread 

Of the marching columns o'er their head. 

Fallen bright stars — from a starlit sky 
We tribute pay to your memory dear 

And oft in silence as time goes by 
We weld old ties with a burning tear 

And over tlie green grass graves o'ergrown 
The mantle of love is sweetly thrown 

Sleep on brave ones- in your narrow ball. 

In the charnel land of dusky gloom 
It may be that rays of beauty fall 

Unknown to us in your darkened tomb ; 
Sleep on till the final trump, and then 

The dead and living shall meet again. 



FROM THE FRONT. 

We've a letter jes' from Si— he's the only 

-^boy we've got — 
He went ter be a soldier -an' a cap'ain 

like's not. 
An' the headin' of his letter —its mighty 

hard fer me 



258 FROM THE FRONT. 

To make out jes' the lieadin'— but it looks 
like "On the Sea." 

The paper is so greasy, an' the 'ritin' is 
so dim . 

It's hard fer me a-readin' of the 'ritin' af- 
ter him. 

"^'We went to Calif orny"— that's an awful 
ways away — 

"An' are crowded on a warship bound for 
Manila bay, 

Down through the worl' below you, clean 
to the tother side, 

Our ship will soon be sailin'— six thou- 
sand miles to ride." 

He's askin' 'bout the wheat fiel'— 'bout 
the yoke of calves he broke — 

"If ma is gittin' better of her paralytic 
stroke." 

If I am jes' as happy as I useter off en 
say. 

If Si would leave his bossin' an' let me 
have my way. 

He's sendin' me a dollar fer the whiffle- 
tree he broke 

When plowin' in tlie stubble fiel' an' run 
ag'in an oak, 

An' I took the plowin' from him, an' cus- 
sed him up an' down. 

An' Si— he kinder dropped his head an' 

mosey'd off ter town. 
I'm standin' by the medder, with the 

fences tumbled down, 



DAMASCUS MEETING— THEN AND NOW. 259 

An' watchin' an' a-watcliin' fer Si ter 
cum from town ; 

The wheat fiel's are a headin'— the rye 
is gittin' tall, 

The katydids are sayin' that we'll have 
an early fall, 

The horse is in the medder— the cows are 
gone astray — 

And Si is on the ocean, bound for Man- 
ila bay. 



DAMASCUS MEETING— THEN AND NOW. 

Well, what did you think of the meeting, wife, 

The sermon we heard today. 
That " it profiteth naught to gain the world 

If we throw our souls away ? " 
That able expounder of Gospel truths 

Was the Rev. Brother G , 

The Pastor in charge of the Quaker church — 

The *' meeting " it used to be. 

" Well, Dear," she replied, " it is twenty years 

Since we left this dear old town, 
As husband and wife, on the sea of life, 

By its waves tossed up and down. 
I remember well where I used to sit, 

'Twas near the partition wall. 
On the bench rough-made from the poplar 
plank, 

By the side of Edith Hall. 



260 DAMASCUS MEETING— THEN AND NOW. 

' And our fathers sat with their broad-brimmed 
hats, 

In their suits of drab and gray, 
And spoke when tlie Spirit gav e utterance, 

But never had mueli to say; 
And silence was gohlen, except perchance 

A brother over the sea 
Was granted a minute to visit us. 

And strengthen the feeble knee. 

" And the voice of song was never heard, 

Nor the open Bible seen. 
Nor the dazzling light of the chandelier. 

Nor cushions of velveteen. 
No pulpit adorned tlie old meeting-house, 

No aisles with mattresses laid. 
No pastoral fund encumbered the church, 

No mission debt to be paid. 

' But, husband, today we entered the door 

In that old moss-covered wall; 
The voices of song floated gently out. 

We ' will croivn him Lord of all.' 
It seemed the elders had taken their seats, 

Attuned tlieir hearts to tlie song. 
The overseers audibly said— amen - 

The ministers helping along. 

" And the old partition was taken out— 
The ' shutters' they called it then— 

The dividing line, as it used to be 
Of the women from the men, 



DAMASCUS MEETING — THEN AND NOW. 2H1 

And when prayer was offered today, they sat 

With bowed uncovered liead, 
That was not the way onr fathers did 

Wlien a vocal prayer was said. 

"Of the okl plain bonnets onr mothers wore, 

That were dim with age and care, 
Or the neat bound shawl, that was void of 
fringe, 

No lingering trace was there. 
And it didn't seem like the meeting-house. 

Where we worshipped years before, 
For fathers and mothers have left their seats. 

And crossed to the other shore— 
Except old Father Butler was there. 

In his old accustomed place 
At the head of the cliurch, with hoary hair. 

And a smile upon his face." 

" Well, wife," said I with a lingering sigh, 

As memory bridged the span. 
And I seemed to go back a score of years, 

To the place where she began, 
" ' Tis true a radical change is wrought: 

In apparel outward worn. 
But a greater change in the hearts of those 

Who of the Spirit are born." 

" And no deathly silence was seen today. 

But life, and vigor, and health. 
The poor in spirit were bountifully fed 



2<)2 A RHAPSODY. 

From the mines of untold wealth: 
The Bible— not doctrine of early Friends- 
Was used as the key today; 
And the literal blood of Christ was shed 
To cleanse us from sin," they say. 

"And the old traditions of Fox or Penn, 

Of Whitehead, as well as of Scott, 
And peculiar views that are held by Friends, 

In the preaching, seemed forgot; 
And my soul was fed from the bounties spread 

And testimonies given, 
'Till I buried the scenes of twenty years, 

Thinking of scenes in Heaven." 



A RHAPSODY. 

Once I loved as a boy may love- 
As a boy may love I say- 
But that was away before your time 

In a very ancient day; 
Before the hills were raised from the ground, 

Or the valleys hewn between. 
Before the sea had found her bound. 

Or tlie trees tlieir spines of green, 
Before the stars in the heavens were hung 

Or the fire was built below 
Before the clouds to the breeze were flung 

Or a breeze was made to blow 
No living tiling as is seen today 

Of beasts, or the fowls of air 



A RHAPSODY. 263 

Of things that creep in the briny deep 

Were around me anywhere 
For I lived before the present man 

Had come upon the stage— 
For I was born, you must understand 

At a very early age. 
When Earth was void, and a shapeless mass 

Ere the curtain of darkness rose 
On the natal morn when the world was born 

I had worn my swaddling clothes. 
And I hold this truth, which is dear to me— 

When Time in his flight began 
In the w^aking morn of Eternity 

There co-existed— man. 

But man is a dual being now 

And then he was only one 
And I cannot tell of the changes, how 

Nor where nor when begun; 
I only know that I live today 

In a different garb from then 
That I wear the form that will find decay 

With the common mould of men. 

But what is life? that it never dies 

When the temple will yield to earth 
But what anew from its ashes rise 

The life which had gave it birth 
And what is life? not tlie blood or brains 

Nor heart nor a breath of air-- 
But an unseen something born to i eign 

As the soul of man— somewhere. 



?<>4 A RHAPSODY. 

My life has been for a inillion years— 

Aiidthat is but as a span- 
Since first I eani!^ to tlie lurid spheres, 

Till now, i've entered man. 
For a thousand years I sported free 

As a wild amphibian brave 
Whose home was aboard a boiling sea 

That was fanned by a ptdar wave; 
I had two fins that were ten feet long 

And a mouth just ten feet wide 
From tip to tip I was ninety strong 

And as wide from side to side 
And rid spout the water above my head 

A thousand feet on high 
And when I took a drink it is said 

1 drank the ocean dry. 

I had twelve feet, webb footed toes, 

An<l a long and shaggy mane 
And just one eye in place of a nose 

When I was foully slain; 
But not my life -for I left the form 

Of the great Behemoth dead 
And mounted on the wings of a storm 

That was riding over head, 
And there in that fearful, darkened scroll, 

With the lightnings gashing round 
Where the awful thunders peal and r(dl 

My second birth I found. 
And I plumed my self as a bird of prey 

With the stolen quills of night 



A RHAPSODY. '2fi5 

And I flapped my wings and I flew away 

In search of a place to light, 
And I sailed above my sea bereft 

Where it yielded up its dead 
Till I came to the putrid form I left 

And on its carcass, fed. 

One day— 'twas a thousand years from this 

A thousand years to a day 
I flew to the top of a deep abyss 

And I never flew away, 
For they opened a new volcano there 

And a rock from its fiery bed 
Came sizzling up through the misty air 

And struck me on the head. 
And I dropped as a bird of prey will drop 

From the shot of a mortal foe 
From my perch on that high and dizzy top 

To the seething gulf below— 
But my life came up from my burning form 

From the flames that loudly roar— 
The life that rose to the raging storm 

A thousand years before, 
And I went again to the deep, deep sea, 

For a form in which to dwell. 
But the only cloak that suited me 

Was an oyster in a shell, 
And just as I thought myself to curl 

In a glittering shell inlaid 
With isinglass of the Mother-of-Pearl, 
A beauty round me strayed. 



26r) A RHAPSODY. 

'Twas a siren Mermaid singing low, 

But oh! but her voice was sweet, 
As the doling dove whose dirges flow 

From a widow's lone retreat. 
And her snoodless raven tresses wove 

Athwart her brow of snow 
The meshes to entangle my love 

Four thousand years ago; 
And I left my shell in the pebbled foam 

As a hiding place for spawn- 
As a purpose then I chose to roam 

Wherever my love had gone 
She went by the coast of Labrador 

Into Kamschatka bay 
By reefs that fringe Prince Edward's shore 

Through the straits Malaga 
And I as a suitor followed aft. 

As the boys you see tonight 
Who on some girl are a little daft 

And 'uite to lose her sight 
They will stand and wait at the door or gate 

In the light of the hallway dim 
And a score or more will watch and wait 

To see the fate of him. 
And the maid demure— yes, you I mean — 

Will put on airs of hate 
While underneath it is plainly seen 

You love the boys who wait. 

Well that is the way my mermaid did 
For a thousand years at least 



JOHN morgan's raid. 267 

Till I knew all the caves wherein she hid 

From North to South and East. 
One day I think in the Irish sea — 

We two were alone in the sea 
In a song she said she would marry me 

And my captive soul was free. 
But the world was made the coming day 

The sea and the land divide 
And my bride was cast on the land away 

While in the sea, I died: 
But not my life— it sought the shell 

Where it longed to be before 
In an oyster bed I chose to dwell 

In silence -evermore, 
But just as I closed my shell for sleep 

For a million years repose 
A craft aboard of the swelling deep 

Put hooks beneath my nose, 
They yanked me out of my little bed 

And they put me in a can 
And they took me to a restaurant 

And there— I entered man. 



JOHN MORGAN^S RAID* 



A Ballad of the War. 

John Morgan, the guerilla, 
He called his faithful band 

Before his tent one morning 
And gave them this command. 



268 JOUN MOR(}AN'S RAID. 

" Tomorrow at the dawning— 

Before the rise of sun — 
Put out the burning camp-fires 

And take each trusty gun 
And get astride your war steeds, 

Before tlie morning's glow 
Is flasliiug up the liillsides 

And cross the Ohio." 

The neighing of the horses, 

The hurrying of the men, 
The tinkling of tlie sabers 

Was music in tlie glen; 
And when the gentle river 

Had caught the morning gleam. 
Three thousand carbines glistened 

Above the tranquil stream; 
Kentucky lay behind them, 

And gentle breezes fanned 
The proud and haughty features 

From out the Southern land. 

They angled through the valleys— 

They crossed the crested hills. 
They looted towns and cities, 

And robbed the vaulted tills; 
They stole the grazing cattle 

They killed the fatted swine, 
km\ drove the swarthy miner 

From (tut his dusky mine; 
They lived upon the fat things, 



JOHN morgan's raid. 2(59 

The corn, ami wine, and oil, 
And burned the harvest treasure 
Of weary days of toil. 

John Morgan he was happy 

And rode in kingly state 
Three thousand valiant soldiers 

Upon his wish to wait; 
From barren fields of scourging 

Of famine and the sword 
They came to fields of plenty 

The fairest of the Lord; 
They ravished and tliey pillaged 

Without a hand to smite. 
For well they knew in Dixie 

Our blue coats were that night. 

One night as they were sleeping 

John Morgan heard the beat, 
A mufiled drum was sounding 

To tread of marching feet; 
It struck with thrilling horror 

Upon the sentry's ear. 
It struck with consternation 

The pickets in the rear. 
As though a marching column 

Surprising them had come— 
The terror, pulsing, music 

They measured from the drum. 

The soldiers were awakened. 
The sentinels called in, 



270 JOHN morgan's raid. 

The picket fires were smouldered 

Till not a light was seen, 
And then came hasty orders 

To beat a quick retreat 
Without a bugle sounding 

To time the flying feet, 
And as they formed their columns 

There flashed a cannon's glare 
A singing shell was bursting 

Above them in the air. 

They knew of no pursuers 

Arrayed in battle line— 
The soldiery were sleeping 

Among the southern pine; 
But volley after volley 

Of deep and sullen sound 
Of musketry and cannon 

Came from the hills around; 
In haste they sought the river — 

Which to the southward lay 
Beyond the rising hilltops 

A hundred miles away. 

Their knapsacks filled with plunder 
Were reckless thrown aside, 

They spurred their quivering war 
steeds 
To aid the midnight ride 

But ere they reached the valley 
The river threaded tlirougli 



JOHN morgan's raid. 271 

Two grim and sooty gunboats 

Came sadly to their view. 
Behind them were pursuers— 

They came from every glen — 
From every farm and workshop 

Came trusty minute men. 

They could not cross tlie river 

The gunboats held the way, 
They could not scale the hilltops 

Nor keep their men at bay, 
And so in desperation 

The Morgan men were led 
Abreast the narrowing channel 

Up toward the riv^ershead; 
While cannister was raining 

From out the gunboat's smoke 
Behind the scrubby oak wood 

The minute men had spoke. 

'Twas on a Sunday morning 

In old Damascus town. 
Just as the peaceful Quakers 

To worship settled down 
There came reverberations 

Of distant cannon's roar 
And with them came a sentry 

Before the church's door, 
" John Morgan comes," he shouted, 

*' He's heading for your town. 
Quick! get your trusted musket 

And help to run him down." 



272 JOHN MORGAN'S RAID. 

Tlie hand-shake was forgotten 

And Morgan witli liis horde 
Had trampled on the spirit 

Of Qnaker and his Lord; 
They rushed from out the doorway 

They started on the run 
Some to secrete tlieir chargers 

And some to charge their gun, 
And there was no mistaking 

Tlie vengeance of the Lord 
Would by the peaceful Quakers 

Be meted by the sword. 

In hasty ranks they gathered 

With pouch and bullet mould 
With flint lock and percussion 

And trappings dim and old, 
They staid not for tlie pleadings 

Of mother, child, or wife, 
But whetted for the action 

Were eager for tlie strife 
When rumors came, the Rebels 

Were nearing Lisbon town 
And that the Quaker village 

Would not be ridden down. 

To southward were the gunboats— 
Behind was Shackelford 

With cavalry advancing 
With carbine and the sword. 

And on a dozen hilltops 



JOHN morgan's raid. 273 

Among tlie swaying trees 
That stood before, was swarming 

The minute men as bees, 
Worse than the horsemen pouring 

Tlieir hordes on Britain's land 
The swelling ranks to battle ■ . 

Witli that environed band. 

A hundred drums were beating 

A hundred flags unfurled 
Their starry folds to flutter 

O'er Lisbon and the world" 
When Morgan's staff was hoisted' 

Without the sound of gun 
With shouts of '* we surrender," 

And victory was won. 
Four hundred, all remaining, 

Of that three thousand host 
Who in the gleam of sunshine 

The Shnnnering river crossed. 

Honor to the minute men 

Of old Damascus town, 
Honor to the Quaker troops 

Who helped to hunt him down^ 
Honor to the Lexington 

And to the Tyler, too, 
Honor to brave Shackelford— 

His cavalry in blue— 
Honor to the winsome lass 

And to the trembling maid 
For moulding of our bullets 

When Morgan made his raid. 



^74 THE conductor's story. 

THE CONDUCTOR'S STORY. 

My run was on the Ft. Wayne road— conductor of a 

freight, 
And number ei2:ht,the passengerjiad been a running late 
la her runs from out Chicago; we had an hour to spare 
To make her scliedule time to Shreve and take the sid- 
ing there 
And give her right of way; my crew, were sleepy, tired 

and sore, 
^ye hadn't had a wink of sleep for forty hours or more. 
For the traffic then was heavy, and runs were much de- 

layerl. 
And crews were working double time to raise the freight 
blockade. 

We made our schedule time to Shreve— ahead of number 

eight — 
To find that she was off of time and forty minutes late, 
And we were without orders, so we had to lay and wait. 
]\Iy brakemen were sleep-heavy— so they came within tlie 

door 
Of t\\} caboose and stretched themselves on cushions on 

the tloor 
While I, upon the lookout seat, to save me could not 

keep, 
From the journey with my brakemen, to the blessed 

realm of sleep. 

It was but just a minute's time, between a wake and 

wake, 
A fitful sleep, a frightful dream, such as the watchers 

take 



THE CONDUCTOR'S STORY. 275 

Wlieu at their post of duty, till, there came with shrill 
delight 

The signal from a passing train that everything was 
right; 

I signaled to our engineer — " pull out and go ahead "— 

As to the East lier danger lights, as lightning swiftly 
sped; 

There was some little parleying 'twixt engineer and me, 

'Bout who was running number eight and who awake to 
see, 

Or did we know that it was her— was causing some de- 
bate, 

Or could it be a wild-cat train aliead of number eight. 

Then we started on our journey — it was up a heavy grade 
Where the throttle was wide open, and the heavy steam 

was made — 
And were rounding off the curving that was bending to 

the right 
When we heard an engine screaming and we saw her 

flaming light, 
Like the thunderbolt in flying — or the tap from off a 

drum — 
Or the flashing of a cannon— did the reeling monster 

come. 
Every nerve was strained to breaking—and her throttle 

swinging wide. 
And she scarcely rocked her sleepers as she crossed the 

great divide, 
And came thundering on her journey — just an instant — 

and our freight 
Met in horrid head collision— the belated number eight. 



276 THE conductor's STORY. 

First a crash, and then the hissing of the hot unloosened 

steam 
Then tlie mournful, wailing voices, and the wild hysteric 

scream 
As I rushed from out the doorway that was broke and 

battered in 
And had beat a hasty footstep to the mad and maddening 

din. 
There was Charley — he, our fireman — 0! I see that awful 

sight — 
Who was prisoned neath his engine in the horror of that 

night, 
He was held below the middle, and could see the lurid 

ray 
Come creeping, darting towards liim, like a serpent for 

its prey 
I could see him— yes! I called him I I could see and hear 

him pray 
" For God's sake! of my conductor! shoot me, take my life 

away." 
Then the flames they mounted higher— with their lap- 
ping tongues of fire 
Singing, writhing, twisting, hissing, in their gluttonous 

desire. 
And above them in their chorus, and in each prolonging 

breath 
Came the voice of Charley— " shoot me! kill me! spare 

me of this death!" 
Then the voice grew feeble, fainter as the spitful flames 

would wrap 
Their winding coils about him, or would rudely o'er him 

flap 



THE conductor's STORY. 277 

Till he (lieti— yes, like a hero, died— while I before him 
stood 

And was driven from his rescue by an unrelenting flood, 

While around me broken coaches, and the dead and dy- 
ing lay 

I could see their death-like faces -I could hear the 
wounded pray; 

And such scenes— the broken-hearted— and the wails and 
moans and sighs 

Of the parents for their children, and the new made or- 
phans' cries. 

01 such scenes— such scenes af anguish, they dazed and 
crazed my brain 

Till [ felt my veins to tingle with their lacerating pain; 

They were real, and I saw them in the wreckage of our 
freight 

And the burning, crackling timbers of the fated number 
eight. 

When the c(»rpses we were lifting, into the funeral car, 
They charged me with the murder, and they flashed that 

news afar; 
Like a culprit I was taken— and was put within a cell 
In the dreary, awful, silence of a grated prison's hell; 
Was indicted for their murderer;— I was brought before 

the bar, 
And was led from out the dungeon, as the vilest felons 

are; 
I was put upon my trial— and three times I faced the 

law 
With my life within its balance, to the swaying of a 

straw; 



278 THE conductor's STORY. 

But in each recurring trial was acquitted of the charge— 

Yet my fortune was all wasted— for expenses they were 
large 

And I thus became a pauper— was lialf branded with a 
crime; 

Which perforce I had committed in my robbing sleep for 
time ; 

And a broken shattered fragment of myself you see to- 
day, 

With all pleasure slain and buried and ambition in de- 
cay, 

Daily haunted by the vision of the terrors of the fate 

When we met in head collision the belated number eight. 

Oh! what horrid persecutors are the nightly dreams to 

me- 
For they bring the crimson wounded, with their gaping 

wounds to see 
And the dead they stand before me, in the hot and lurid 

glare 
I can see their waxen faces, with their ghost and ghastly 

stare. 
Oh, God! I hear the fl reman, —and it makes my flesh to 

creep— 
And my blood runs cold and clammy and my sunken 

eyes they weep 
As I hear him calling— listen! don't you hear liim call- 
ing? say! 
As the fire fiend crawling 'round him to clutch him for 

its prey! 
Don't you see him? hear him moaning! he is facing cruel 
death — 



THE MODERN SERMON. 279 

Hear him pray for me to shoot him? that's his very la- 
test breatli — 

Oh I my dreams are frightful, hideous and most tortur- 
ous to me 

And I try to waken from them— but they will not let me 
free. 

And I shrink from tlieir appalling— from their deep and 
bitter hell 

Of remembering the harvest by the wayside, Death can 
tell 

To the tired and sleepy trainmen, of the weary running 
freight 

And the quiet sleeping passengers aboard of number 
eight. 



THE MODERN SERMON. 

I've been ter meetin' an' I heard the preacher take a tex' 
Dividin' of the word he sed f(»r this worF au' the nex' 
The dwelling place thereof he sed was Revolution's third. 
The twenty-eighth and twenty-ninth contained the bless- 
ed word, 
He who wT)uld flee the wratli to cum an' slum the evil day 
He must'nt git to foolin' roun' where evil things'll stay; 
When Jonah went inter the whale, it werent cause he's 

skeered 
He went ter steal the patent right of how the thing was 

steered 
When 'Lijah caught the chariot an' asked to liave a ride; 
'Twas cause he wanted for to see the dynamo inside 



280 THE MODERN SERMON. 

WliHii Peter walked upon tlie waves of Lake Genezeret 
He went to try his rubber boots to keep from gettin' wet; 
When Daniel went into the den to git a lion's cub 
He did it for to hiss him (m theole Beelzebub. 
They was'ntfoolin' with the things that you and I have got 
Nor takin' hold the poker end that is a sizzlin' hot. 
They was jessperimentingon the things they didn't know 
Of steerin' gears an' animals an' boots an' dynamo, 
An' you an' I mus' flee 'em what the Bible folks has tried 
An' got a patent right upon or else they have applied, 
For that is where the sin comes in in tryin' for to do 
The things that they have tried afore au'say we ougliten to; 
But then somehow you feller's think that you are gittin'' 

smart 
An' able to undo the things the Bible give a start, 
An' when you see a sign put up of "danger" dontcher know 
Y(m wanter go an' try the thing an' see if it are so, 
You think a cause a feller failed in what he tried to do 
It taint no reasim you'll fail an' so you try it too. 
An' tliat is how the crop of fools is hatching every year 
They wanter try the sperience altho its mighty dear, 
An' when I tell you flee tiie wrath— come in an' bar the 

door. 

Keep Satan out you stay outside to play with him some 

more, 
An' purty soon the Devil cum, an' say "my mister man 

I've got a place, for you, I guess I'll take you while I can," 

An' so he takes you down the way that leads to his abode 

An awful dark and dreary lane with buggers on the road 
lliitil he gets you to his works, of rollin' mills of sin 
An' puts you wheelin' kittles there with bllin' brimstone 
in, 



ONE OF OUR REPRESENTATIVES TO HIS WIFE. 281 

An' when yon try to let 'em go the pesky things will not 
An' all the time a hotten' more an' more a gittin hot 
An' you can see the fellers there thats been ten thousand 

years 
An' never had a drop to drink exceptin' salty tears, 
An' never had a breath of air or anything to eat 
An' all the time a watchin' us up on the golden street; 
Then you'll wish an' wish an' wish that you had fleld the 

wrath 
An' got aboard the narrow gauge that's running up the 

path 
That leads up to the perfect day along the narrow way 
Where I am pintin' of my flock as findin' me some day. 



ONE OF OUR REPRESENTATIVES WRITES 
HOME TO HIS WIFE. 

Columbus, 0., Feb, 12, 1898. 

Dear Mary: Six weeks have I lived in the city— 

An' surely I'm likin' the job very much — 
That you isn't with me, ah sure! is the pity— 

I'm lonesome, ye know, without likens of such; 
The makin' of laws is a nate occupation. 

An' more to my mind than the hoein' of corn. 
It doesn't require any great eddication. 

It's more in the sign of the moon when your born. 
Me labor no longer in cleaning the stable— 

The palling the cows— the toting of swill— 
The twisting the wringer— the rocking the cradle— 

There's more, I find out, in a vote for a bill. 



282 ONE OF OUR REPRESENTATIVES TO HIS WIFE. 

I board at the Neil— have parsnips, pertaters, 

Fried chicken, and pies, and saner kraut and wine. 
All brought to my room by tlie darlingest waiters, 

Dressed finer than you are— whenever I dine. 
Me mind has been altered about corporations 

An' trusts, an' combines you hear of so much. 
I vote every time agin legislation 

Abridgin' the rights they're having as such; 
I needn't tell why— don't ask me to tell you — 

Ye know that we borrowed a thousand last fall- 
It's made and it's paid - ask Bascom to sell you 

Their eighty 'side ours— I can pay for it all. 
Every railroad, I think in the state that is runnin' 

Has given me passes jes' suiting me mind; 
Do you think I'm the fool that will now be a gunnin' 

For fellers who use me so awfully kind? 
I ride where I please without nary a penny 

An' dine an' drink wine as oft as I please- 
Why the satin lined seal skin sent to our Jennie, 

Was a gift from the brewers of Bribem & Squeeze. 
I'm on tlie committee of state institutions, 

On asylums, an' schools for the deaf an' the blind, 
An' also have charge of the free distributions 

Of all of the perquisites used by our kind. 
From each county, almost, is a big delegation 

To hunt for a job for a fellow in tow 
An' you see there's a chance for a big speculation 

In finilin' a place for the feller to go. 
Encbtsed is four drafts made out to your order 

One thousand you see from the school book combine 
The others is all from Hrice an' Van (iorder 

Who furnish the pen with the coal from their mine. 



THE SKUNK. 283 

See Waffler an' tell him as soon as its sledding 

To slip in some logs an' saw at his mill; 
We'll bnild a fine mansion in old Aimageddon 

An' fronting both ways on the top of the hill; 
Good by ! it is dark an' a feller's awaiting 

With horses an' cab outside of the door 
For me an' a girl I'm going to learn skating. 

So Mary, good night, I am true to the core. 



THE SKUNK 

When the rocks were first made for the pillars of 

mountains, 
And beds were hewn out from the rivers at birth, 
There were rifts in the rocks for the flowing of fountains 
And clefts in the rocks for the beasts of the earth. 

All nature was common— no law code was moulded 
No })east had a castle or refuge from fear 
They slept on tlie plains with their curtains unfolded 
And sav^ the first stars that were hnng in their sphere. 

Dissensions arising they met in convention— 
'Twas early at dawn on the third natal day. 
The li(m presided and called their attention 
To many times many strange species were they. 

No name, or no habit, or castle or dwelling 
The owl was called in to give number and name ; 
With pride in his heart and with dignity swelling 
He gave to the lion the king of the same. 



284 THE SKUNK. 

From least to the greatest he named and he numbered, 
And each in his turn was called up and would choose 
A castle for refuge to rest as he slumbered 
Amid the fair fruitage of earth he would use. 

Some went to the sea to lave in its lasliings, 

Some went to the desert to sport in the sand, 

And some to the ice floes whose crushing and crashing 

Made music more sweet than the songs of the land, 

And some to tlie forest and jungles and highlands— 
Their strength for their refuge wherever they roam— 
And some all alone on the sea girted islands, 
Whose bulwarks were billows surrounding their home: 

And the last was the skunk, despised and grown weary- 
The earth was pre-empted from zone to the pole— 
His choice was a vagabond lonely and dreary 
Without an acquaintance with which he could stroll, 

His choosing of weapon was simple and cunning— 
A sack of the attar of musk at command, 
With sprayer to use in his stillness or running 
More fatal than powder and lead to withstand; 

And when he is dead, flunked out from the living 
His pelt it is eagerly sought for and dried 
As a jewel most rare for a lover in giving, 
To compass the form of his love or his bride. 



UNCLE SAM'S BANQUET TO PRESIDENT MCKINLEY. 285 

UNCLE SAM^S BANQUET TO PRESIDENT Mc- 

KINLEY. 

Columbia ! put the kettlp on— set the fires aglow, 

Get ready for a banquet to the son of Ohio, 

For erery victory he has won since twenty years ago. 

I've sent my invitations out, to children west and east. 
I've told them all what I'm about, and bid them to the feast. 
And they're coming. Oh, Columbia I from the biggest's to 
the least. 

I've sent my invitations out, to Morton and to Piatt — 
They're both a little huffy but are getting over that— 
They'll meet us at St. Louis, when McKinle>'s at the bat; 

And Bradley says he's coming along with Allison. 

Tom Reed has got his powder wet, and coming on the run; 

But Quay is still a fooling with his Pennsylvania gun. 

The "Old Dominlon's"coming on, along with" Wolverines," 
And "Badgers" from their hummocks of oak and ever- 
greens, 
All shouting for the banquet from the hilltops to ravines. 

The "Suckers" and the "Hoosiers" and the "Gophers are 
in line. 

With the "Tar Heels" from Carolina with smell of tur- 
pentine, 

And the "Pukes" of old Missouri, from harvest fields and 
mine. 



286 WHEN I WAS A BOY. 

They are coming, Oh Columbia ! I want to see them come 
¥oT my son who went to battle for my people and their 

home, 
When my old rebellious children, were sounding the war 

drum. 

On the wigwam for the banquet is streaming from the 

mast 
My banner of Protection for the future as the past 
And they'll find that Uncle Samuel's protection to the last. 



WHEN I WAS A BOY. 

When I was jes' a little boy 

Pa uster teach me lots o' things, 
As kinder trees, an' giass, an' flowers 

An' bees as had no sting, an' stings, 
I guess lie thought he'd have me wise 

An' know as much as grown folks do 
An' kinder take folks by surprise 

To find how awful much I knew. 

I knowed the angels were like Pa — 

Exceptin' that they dressed in white- 
An' never flew aroun' by day 

But dun their flyin' after night— 
An' Pa he sed some day as I 

Would be an angel in the sky 
When I took sick and had to die 

An' that jes' made me cry an' cry. 



• 73 



WHEN I WAS A BOY. 287 

One clay Pa tuk me to the woods 

To salt the sheep a rimnin' there 
An' lef me settin' on the fence 

So as the sheep they woukl not scare 
An' I could see some bees or things 

Come to their nest right overhead — 
The kind Pa said as hadn't stings 

An' they was drones, is what he said. 

They had a house they made of felt 

Jes' like a top in shape ; the size 
Was jes' about as big a round 

As one of Mama's apple pies, 
The door was at the little end 

An' I could see 'em come an' go 
An' every one was watchin' me 

A settin' on the fence below. 

An' as I climbed the tree to see 

The drones as wouldn't work at rest 
An' said to' them, "ah, pretty bee 

A sleepin' " in a purty nest 
An' blew my breath to hear 'em buzz, 

With music from a hundred wings 
When they came out— but not the ones 

Pa told me hadn't any stings. 

When I cum to, from out the tree 

My head was on a feather bed, 
An' Pa was takin' tansy tea 

To draw the swellin' from his head, 



288 THE MOSQUITO. 

An' I were one of Gideon's baud 
At leas' I thought as I had died 

An' felt to feel luy angel wings, 
I had a floppin' at my side. 



THE MOSQUITO. 

Of all the things that tiy or crawl 
That's in the air or on the sea, 

The one that I hate most of all 
And one that thinks the most of me 
Is the mosquito. 

He always comes to me at night 
When tired and sleepy in my bed, 

And sings and sings to get a bite 
And says the hungry must be fed 
And he wants blood. 

I brush and brush and don't know where 
The pesky thing is going to light, 

He's buzzing round me everywhere 
Until I'm mad enough to fight 
That there musquito. 

And then he lights, and bores his bill- 
That cuts just like a rat-tail saw— 

And hurts just bad enougli to kill 
And so I kill right on my jaw 
That there mosquito. 








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